The Middleground
by I am Lu
Summary: There's an old adage that history, if forgotten, will repeat itself. Iris is 17 years old when Unova breaks into an ideological civil war. With only a letter from her late mentor to guide her, she sets off with a group of other trainers displaced by the war, including her friend Cilan, to restore peace to their divided nation. Wishfulshipping. Slight AU that omits N arc.
1. What Remains

**Part I: Seeking Truth**

 **Chapter I: What Remains**

 _There's an old adage that history, if forgotten, will repeat itself._

 _We hear this all the time and only half-heartedly take it as a warning, and our attempts to fight it comprise laughably watered-down history lessons in our schools. Here, most school-aged children will leave home before they reach adolescence, so we cram as much knowledge about our nation into the first 10 years of their lives, but we end up brushing over the ugly truths of our past in order to paint an ideal image of our country._

 _I suppose the excuse would be that we don't want to "taint" the children before they reach puberty. I don't buy into it, though: The lessons don't really change with the age of students, so most adults don't even know the truth. The reality is, we do nothing to remove the blinders that limit our view of Unova's darker history—so we have forgotten._

 _I know we have forgotten, because I sat through those lessons, and I wore those blinders. I didn't know I had them until the war. I was embarrassed to figure out I had them actually, because I always thought I knew the truth better, and that's why I've decided to write this account now._

 _There is no personal gain—no reputation to save or build, no financial incentive—waiting for me in writing this story. I've made a habit of recording all the events in my life, the failures and the successes, so that I don't forget them. I want to make this account not only so I won't forget, but so that we will never forget again. I know I am one of the few who can record these events with the detail and accuracy they need, because I lived here, and I lived through the war, and I was a witness to the rise of Iris Ajagara, who was only 17 when the conflict broke and the repetition of history was set into motion._

* * *

Iris's bare feet fell lightly against the cold marble tiles as she paced slowly, thoughtfully, through an open space in the Opelucid City Gym's living quarters. Clutched in her hands was a fine linen sheet of paper, crisply creased with two even folds. The page was covered, neatly so, with personally inked words urgently and carefully written, and Iris had read them at least a dozen times over with the same urgency and care they demanded.

She stood alone; the silence, and the emptiness, of the room attested to that. Every slight crinkle her thumb made in the edge of her letter, every soft, deliberate step in her back-and-forth cantor across the room, was a static note that climbed the walls toward the ceiling. Abruptly, noisily, she folded the letter back up and stuffed it into its envelope, which she had delicately held between her index and middle finger.

Iris carried the letter back into her bedroom and laid it atop her half-packed backpack, which leaned against a misplaced dining chair. She clutched her head and ran her fingers through her hair with an exasperated though forlorn sigh. She glanced toward the clock on the wall. She was behind on time and knew she would be late if she didn't get ready soon. This in mind, she reached for the bottom folds of her yellow dress and pulled it over her head before carelessly tossing it onto her unmade bed.

Iris didn't have a particularly diverse closet. New clothes were not a high priority, and having barely grown in the past five years, most everything she wore when she was 12 could still fit her. She dug through the hangers showcasing apparel she hadn't touched in years, looking for a specific color. Black was not a typical part of her wardrobe; happier, brighter colors as warm as her autumn eyes were her preference, but social convention, a nuisance in Iris's mind, required something more morose for the day.

Eventually, Iris discovered the only black item she owned was a shawl. The next closest mournful piece of attire was a never-worn gray dress, the origin of which Iris couldn't remember. She resigned to a compromise, pulling the gray dress off its hanger and slipping into it before drawing the black shawl around her shoulders. She glanced at the full-length mirror and decided, in this, no one would pass a judgmental eye over her—except for one thing. She snatched a hair brush off the table and began to work through several of the many tangles in her long, dark hair.

A doleful whine from behind Iris captured her attention, and her eyes moved over her shoulder to see her Fraxure, his red eyes drooping with grief, slowly moving toward her in a crawl. Iris offered him a weak smile, and she kneeled beside him when he approached. He stretched his green, leathery neck toward her when she began to stroke his head comfortingly.

"I know," she said. "I'm sad, too."

Iris straightened up again and moved several feet toward her backpack, from which she pulled out Fraxure's Pokéball. Then, turning, she called him back into it, and when the red light disappeared, she pressed the colored top of the ball to her mouth.

"We won't be there for too long, I promise," she murmured.

Iris slipped the Pokéball into her pocket—the dress, thankfully, had pockets—and snapped up some black flats laying near the end of her bed and pulled them onto her feet. She then went to the door and, grasping the handle, cast one last glance toward the letter and her bag. She realized with a painful clutch on her heart there was not much left for her here. Soon, there would be nothing left for her here.

She shut the door tightly behind her, practice for what would come later.

* * *

The scent and warmth of summer, though still a way's off, was palpable in the wind that whipped Iris's hair in thin strands across her face and contoured to the modest curves of her small frame as she hastily strode down the street past people who shuffled by at an equally anxious and hurried pace. No one ever made eye contact. These, Iris would later realize, were the first signs. It wasn't always this way.

Iris passed by a newsstand and stopped long enough to observe the headlines of the day: "Three Lynched Outside Driftveil City, Perpetrators Under G-Men Investigation"; "Tensions Rise In Southern Unova With Rash Of Arsons"; "APC Withdraws Contest Hall Plans in Unova After Increases In Local Violence"; "Is A Unovan Civil War On The Way?"; "Long-Time Opelucid Gym Leader Drayden Pollock Dead After Car Accident."

Iris stared ruefully at that last one, until the salesman noticed her and leaned over the counter, sneering, "Hey, you gonna buy something or what?"

She directed her hard gaze toward the man but fell away with a frown, saying, "No, sorry. I was just looking."

The church was several further blocks away, and Iris went ahead without stopping. She knew she had arrived when she noticed the throng of black-adorned people moving into an austere, gray-brick building with a steeple that rose high into the pale blue sky. Drayden had only a handful of friends in his life, but he had drawn the respect of many, and his death was a sore impact upon what naïvety and blind optimism remained among them—at least, it would have been if everyone didn't believe he was dead because of a tragic accident and not darker means.

Iris eventually joined the crowd, hiking up the aged steps that led to the open, heavy wooden doors of the church. She recognized a number of faces the moment she entered: gym leaders and Elite Four members and other persons of interest, some from outside of Unova. Iris was unnoticeable in comparison, not that she minded. She didn't want to be noticed.

Her hopes were dashed when a hand fell upon her shoulder, and she stiffened. Yet, she managed to relax again when she recognized the voice that followed.

"Iris," he called her by name. Iris turned to face the man behind her slowly, letting his hand fall off of her. It had been a couple months since they had last seen each other in person.

"Cilan," she regarded him. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

He smiled with a strange, feeble reassurance. Unlike herself, Cilan had definitely grown since their days traveling across Unova with a mutual friend, Ash Ketchum. He was taller, leaner, though he carried himself with the same grace and spoke with the same eloquence—the same genteel tone that rose and fell with polite, measured emotion—that she remembered.

"My brothers and I thought someone ought to represent the Striaton Gym and pay respects to a fellow gym leader," he explained. He hesitated before adding, "But... I wanted to be here for you, too."

"Your brothers aren't here?" Iris asked, ignoring his addendum.

"No." Cilan shook his head. "It's just me. Traveling isn't as easy as it once was, and they were more nervous than I. Besides, someone needed to watch over the restaurant and gym."

"Yeah..." she mumbled, trailing off. Cilan frowned and inclined his head toward her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her gently.

"Fine, I guess," Iris answered with a half-hearted shrug.

"You and Drayden were pretty close," Cilan remarked.

"I don't know if you could say we were 'close.'" Iris kept her eyes averted from his as she readjusted her shawl. She suddenly ached for a change in subject and asked, "Do you know if Alder's here?"

"Alder?" Cilan blinked.

"If there was someone who was close with Drayden, it was Alder," she said plainly.

"I'm not sure," Cilan admitted. "I only recently arrived myself. I can't imagine he isn't, though."

Iris pursed her lips with discontent. She glanced behind Cilan and quickly scanned the area, but her cursory search yielded nothing. She then let out a tired sigh and folded her arms, raising her eyes toward Cilan's again.

"Well, I'm going to look for him," she decided. "We can catch up later."

"Okay," Cilan agreed with a nod, and he watched her for a moment as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

Iris easily sidled past the assembly of people that had congregated in separate groups of mourners. She read their grieved and apprehensive faces, waiting for the moment she would find the one she wanted. Yet, it was only when she reached upstream that she found him standing near the front of the church, beneath a stain-glass window that depicted a dragon—the unnamed aboriginal dragon who lived before the Great Unovan War split him into the famous Tao Trio, or so the legend said anyway—with grand silvery-gray wings and red eyes that glowed luminously with the sun's afternoon light. This was only one artistic representation. No one knew what the aboriginal dragon truly looked like; no one even knew his name.

Iris cautiously approached their nation's leader, who stood with the familiar Elesa of Nimbasa City and an unfamiliar young male trainer with wild hair and flaming red eyes. She was not intimidated of the Champion himself, but rather, the topic she wanted to broach, and she half-doubted he would openly speak about it with others standing so near. Still, if she said nothing now, then nothing would be said at all.

"Alder." The man perked up, immediately ending his conversation with Elesa, and looked toward Iris when she said his name aloud.

"Ah, hello Iris." He grinned at her, but the friendly expression and greeting couldn't hide the plaintive tone with which he spoke. The Dragon Master's death had undoubtedly taken a huge toll on the Unova Champion.

"I got a letter from Drayden, just this morning." Iris rose her head a little higher and looked Alder directly in the eyes as she spoke, as if to draw him into some secret plot they had both known all along. She watched him carefully, waiting for some change in his expression that would indicate he knew what she was talking about, but Alder's face didn't break. Neither did the red-eyed man's. Yet, Elesa's brow furrowed with sympathy.

"Iris, he's dead," she said slowly, carefully. "The car accident—"

"—It's from him," Iris insisted, cutting her off. The red-eyed man standing near Alder briefly narrowed his gaze, looking at Iris with interest. She continued, "I know his handwriting. Someone was waiting to send it to me."

Alder pressed his lips into a hard line.

"How interesting," he mused. He neither said nor inquired anything further of the subject, however, and instead gestured to the young man who had been watching Iris for the entire time she spoke and asked, "Have you met my grandson, Benga?"

Iris knew she should have expected this, but she was still alienated by the blatant evasion of her insinuations. Even Elesa cast the Champion a surprised look.

"I haven't," Iris said shortly.

"Aha." Alder offered her a second grin, this one even weaker than the last. "Well, I think an introduction is in order then. Benga, this is Iris Ajagara. She was Drayden's apprentice to the Opelucid Gym."

"It's nice to meet you." Benga stuck his hand out toward her, and it was then that the obvious resemblance between him and his grandfather struck Iris. The alike facial structures and hair colors were only a couple common traits shared between them. What truly seized Iris were their similar deep, husky voices; Benga's was undoubtedly more youthful, but if he were to suddenly age twenty years, she would hard-pressed to tell them apart. The greatest difference was their eyes. Alder's were a tired, sun-stained gray while Benga's were a feisty crimson, not too unlike the reddish brown that abutted Iris's own face.

"Same." Iris shook his hand.

"So I guess this means you're the new gym leader, huh?" Benga withdrew his arm, folding it into his other. He stood tall and proud, not with the intention of making Iris feel smaller than she was, but as a consequence of a perceptible, outgoing confidence in his air. Even in the somber atmosphere of the church, she could feel it.

"I guess so," Iris said impassively. It wasn't something she had dedicated a lot of time to thinking about. She didn't think she would be enjoying the full responsibilities of a gym leader for much longer anyway.

"Drayden would've been proud, Iris," Alder broke in. "He always knew you would do great things. _I_ know you'll do great things."

Meanwhile, Elesa flicked over her wrist to check her watch.

"Alder, sir." Elesa gently touched his shoulder. "We should be starting soon."

"Right, right," Alder said, nodding. He looked back toward his grandson and Iris. "Well, I'll leave you to yourselves then."

They disappeared, and Iris and Benga stood in an uncomfortable silence. Her eyes rose to the stain-glass masterpiece above them, contemplating it, and so when he cleared his throat to speak, Iris looked at him blankly, almost as if she had forgotten he was there or had expected him to leave.

"Would you like to sit with me?" he offered.

"Thanks, but I'll pass." Iris looked away and wandered where her gaze carried her. The people were beginning to seat themselves, and Iris eventually found Cilan in one of the pews when he waved helpfully at her, and she was quick to join him.

"Did you find him?" Cilan asked her in a low voice when she slid into the open space beside him.

"Yeah," she answered. Her tone indicated she didn't want to talk about it, so Cilan didn't press the matter further.

A hush swept over the crowd when Alder stepped up to the podium near the front. Iris flicked her head back to remove a loose piece of her dark hair from her line of vision. Cilan briefly looked at her when she did this then turned his head forward again.

"My dear friends," Alder's powerful, deep voice—the voice of a leader—reverberated through the stony church passages, "we have gathered here today to honor the life of a great man: a man who was a teacher and an inspiration to many; a man who cared deeply for the welfare of his country; a man who would fight and die for the people and Pokémon he loved. Drayden Pollock was not just an adviser and a source of wisdom to me, he was a friend. He—"

Cilan was looking at Iris again, and this time, she noticed. A low growl emerged from the back of her throat as she jerked her head in the direction opposite to him.

"Stop it," she warned.

"Stop what?" he inquired.

"Stop looking at me like I'm something to pity," she said.

"I'm not—" Cilan's voice faded, and he drew into himself. Iris felt her eyes burn suddenly, but the sensation departed as quickly as it came. Alder's speech, passionate and pained, carried on.

* * *

Nearly an hour after the memorial service had ended, Iris had still not left the church. She knew it was breaking the promise she had made to her Fraxure, but after the memories and honors of her mentor were put to rest and the people who had gathered there began to leave, Iris had sunk onto the corner of a step outside the church, and she could not bear to move.

Some, recognizing she was the former student of Drayden and the successor to the Opelucid City Gym, stopped to ask if she was okay or offer their condolences. Yet, Iris had dismissed them all with the reassurance she was fine and that she merely needed some time to think. Cilan had overheard her dismissals, and so he waited inside the church, watching her from one of the back pews, giving her the space and time to think as she claimed she desired. He didn't notice, but he wasn't the only one.

When the sun began falling behind the horizon, Cilan decided he had waited long enough, and he rose from his seat to approach her. Yet, she felt his presence behind her before he said a word or even revealed himself to her, and she was the first to speak.

"Don't you find it suspicious there's not a body?" she asked him ponderously. Cilan drew back with surprise.

"Excuse me?" he asked, mildly appalled by the bold and morbid question.

"No body," Iris repeated, turning her head back toward him. "Isn't that strange?"

"I... hadn't thought much of it," Cilan admitted. He sat beside her on the steps. His knees rose awkwardly high into the air, and he shifted uncomfortably for a moment, attempting to better situate himself.

Iris looked at him, unimpressed.

"Mhm," she hummed after a short while. Cilan read her behavior as more conspiratorial than she intended, and he looked at her gravely, feeling obligated to set the truth straight in the face of whatever living tenets of hope to which she still clung.

"Iris... Drayden is dead," he said gently.

"I—" Iris stopped herself from snapping at him. She wasn't sure why everyone seemed so ready to believe she was in denial of his death, but it wasn't fair to lash out at Cilan, of all people, for it. "I know that. I'm not saying he isn't. I'm just saying—" She stopped again and pulled her fingers through her hair before letting her hand fall into her lap. "... I don't know. I just think if he died in a car accident, there would be a body. Besides, it's not like this is some tragic thing where he left me in the gym late at night to pick up groceries and was killed by a drunk driver."

"What do you mean?" Cilan asked.

"He left a month ago," Iris elaborated. "He said he had some extended business to take care of, and he left me in charge of the gym. And then, I found out he'd died. And then, I received—"

"Received what?" he pressed when she hesitated to finish.

"Nothing," Iris said quietly, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Iris, you can talk to me," he half-pleaded with her. Her gaze connected with his, and she felt her chest swell with the words she'd intended to say, but she let them go with a sigh.

"It's really nothing." She rose to her feet, then asked, "Are you heading back to Striaton City?"

"I'm taking a cab to Lacunosa and catching a bus, yes." He stood, too. "Would you rather I stayed for a couple days? My brothers would understand."

"No, go," Iris said with a couple flippant waves of her hand.

"Iris..."

"Just go," Iris insisted, looking away. "It's fine. I'll be fine." Cilan was silent, unsatisfied, and so Iris carefully cast a concerned glance at him over her shoulder. "Stay safe out there, okay?"

Cilan frowned.

"Same to you," he eventually gave in. Iris nodded and trotted down the rest of the steps, sliding her hands into the pockets of her gray dress. She felt the smooth surface of Fraxure's unexpanded Pokéball with her thumb. Cilan, meanwhile, watched her leave with worry creased in expression, but he eventually decided there was nothing further he could do and started down the steps, too, heading in the opposite direction.

When Iris was halfway across the lawn, however, she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that she didn't want to leave Cilan on this note. So, she spun on her heels, toward him.

"Hey!" she shouted at him, grabbing his attention. When she had his eyes, she added in a more measured, though still audible volume, "Thanks for talking to me."

He stared. Then, he cracked a small smile.

"Anytime," he said.

They parted with some type of mutual understanding, one that couldn't be defined, not even by themselves—at least, not at that time. Thus, Iris set off toward the home that would not be a home for much longer. She had honestly believed its role would end before the evening began, but her delay in leaving the church meant she had one last night to suffer the loneliness now haunting the gym.

"Ay, Iris!"

She pricked up in alarm when she heard her name. She turned to see a newer face running to catch up with her, and she waited for him with tension pulling her shoulders taut.

"Benga, right?" she asked when he met her, giving him only a moment to regain his breath, and that was all he needed. He was definitely fit for his age, whatever his age was—Iris guessed he was older than her but younger than Cilan, who had celebrated his 20th birthday several months earlier, before any of this had really begun.

"Yeah, you got it," Benga said, straightening up.

"What are you talking to me for?"

"A straight-shooter, huh?" he half-grumbled, half-remarked amusedly.

"Sorry," Iris mumbled. "I'm just tired, and I have some important things to do."

"Well, I won't hold you long, then." Iris said nothing; she only looked at him expectantly, so he went on, "That letter you were talking about—from Drayden?—what you're thinking about, it's true."

Iris's breath caught.

"Did your grandfather send you to find me?" she asked with some renewed vim.

"No, I came on my own," Benga said coolly. "Still, why do you think he introduced you and me?"

"So do you know anything?" Iris pressed.

"Look, if you want the truth—" Benga raised his left index finger upward and emphatically tapped the surface of his nail with the middle of his right index, forming the shape of a capital "T," three times. "—just remember liberty. Because the truth will set you free."

Iris's expression fell listless again, and she looked at him with exasperation. Then she made an annoyed noise and sent her gaze away from his with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh geez," she sighed.

"What?" Benga glowered at her.

"Nothing. I just wouldn't have taken you for—well, whatever." Iris briefly rubbed her temple before dropping her hand to her side and saying in a slightly more amicable tone, "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

Benga was visibly unsure of what to make of her response, but he settled on a positive outlook and shared a grin that was akin to his own grandfather's.

"Hope to see you again soon, Iris," he said.

He left, and Iris watched him disappear around the corner. She stood there, uninspired, before sighing again and turning back toward the direction where she was originally headed. The streets, she noted, were now near-empty. Hardly anyone went out after dark.


	2. What Leaves

**Chapter II: What Leaves**

 _Of course, we all know the origin legend of the Tao Trio. You can't be Unovan and not know it. It's in our parents' bedtime stories and our animated children's shorts and epic PG-13 action flicks and adult novelizations. We love the story. Really, ask any Unovan, and they can recount their own version of the tale. The gist is this: Many years ago, before Unova had established itself as a modern nation, two heroes who sought to build a new society fell into conflict over their polarizing ideologies. What ensued was a war that tore the heroes apart and split the dragon_ _—the aboriginal dragon whom they loved and deified, and who stood to help them build their society—into Reshiram and Zekrom. Kyurem was the shell of the dragon that had been torn apart._

 _Usually, the heroes of the legend are referred to as brothers. Others say they are father and son, or sisters, or mother and daughter, or any family combination you can think of. There are also versions of the story where no blood relation exists between the heroes. There are even adaptions where they're lovers._

 _We know this story in all of its forms, except one: the historical. So, here's a history lesson for you, a real one._

 _Thousands of years ago, Hoenn and Unova were connected by a land bridge. The Draconid people were an ancient tribe of Dragon-type trainers who lived in Meteor Falls, Hoenn, and revered the legendary Rayquaza. For some reason that nobody's still really sure of, the tribe split, and half migrated across the land bridge and were the first to settle Unova. There, they found the aboriginal dragon, who became their new protector._

 _Thousands of more years passed, and explorers from the country of Solaria looking for new lands arrived on the shores of Unova. They met the Draconid people and established friendly relations, and everything was fine between them for a while. The Draconid people taught the explorers about their faith and culture, and they showed them the natural wonders of old Unova_ _—and eventually, they introduced them to their deity, the aboriginal dragon, too._

 _The leader of the explorers, Vero Albinus, was impressed by everything the Draconid people had shown him, and he eventually decided this was where they would build their new society. This didn't go over too well with the chief of the Draconid people, Taima, who, in romanticized accounts at least, had called Albinus a "brother"_ _—that's where the "brothers" thing comes from._

 _Anyway, Taima was upset the land didn't belong to the explorers, and he probably also wasn't too thrilled with the explorers trying to erase the traditions of the Draconid people in order to civilize them. But, he was definitely offended by the explorers wanting to use their deity, the aboriginal dragon, as a means to create their new society. Today, we oversimplify this conflict into its most basic form: truth versus ideals._

 _The conflict did turn violent. If there's one thing I've learned about war, it's that there are no winners: only people who lose more._ _If I'm being honest though, I'm not sure what happened between the Draconid people and the explorers was a war._ _If you look around today in Unova, you'll have a hard time finding any descendents of the Draconid._

 _No one wants to say the word "genocide" though._

* * *

Iris's head hung low into the safety of her hand to hide the tears that had pricked her eyes and stained her face. Although she had managed to travel a day uninhibited by her own emotions, there came a point when her grief weighed so heavily on her that she stuck herself onto the trunk of a fallen tree and cried her first genuine set of tears since Drayden's death.

Yesterday, she had risen at the first signs of morning and set herself to work. Drayden had inexplicably kept a pile of junked wood, old boards mainly, behind the gym, and Iris intended to make use of them. She had always assumed he was saving them as firewood, despite the fact he never burned any fires, but she now realized perhaps he was gathering them for more apocalyptic means.

The enormity of the gym warranted several hours of labor, though it was hastened with the help of her Pokémon. She required it anyway, since the lower half of the gym—the base containing the battlefield—featured no windows; rather, they were all higher in the structure, bringing light into the living quarters. Yet, Iris closed them off to the rising sun one by one, until they were all boarded and no natural light could pour into the dimming rooms.

Inside, Iris then retrieved her backpack, ready for travel. Yet, she stopped and stood at the door of her bedroom as she had done the day before, feeling herself begin to swell with longing for something that was no longer there. The unpacked clothes had been folded and put away, the sheets of her bed made, the curtains drawn over dark windows, the misplaced chair returned to its rightful spot in the dining room. It was as though she had never been there, as though she, a misfit of the city, had never made a home there. She, a product of the outside world, would have never expected herself to attach sentimental value to a place with velvet curtains—something she had never, and still didn't, care about—but she had.

There was a lingering thought in the back of her mind, however, that it was not the walls and the floors and the materials objects for which she ached, but rather the person who had left these things to her a month earlier.

She closed the door.

Downstairs, when she was midway across the battlefield, Iris swung her backpack off one shoulder and searched through the front pocket for a particular Pokéball. Finding it, she straightened herself up and held it out, releasing the Pokémon inside: her Dragonite. He grunted, apparently confused why she was letting him out now, and turned to face her with a suspicious expression.

"Dragonite," she started carefully, "I need you to do me a favor, please."

He grunted again, granting her permission to proceed.

"I'm leaving for a while," Iris told him. "I'm not sure for _exactly_ how long, but—" She paused, struggling for words. "—I—need—someone to watch over the gym, make sure no one tries to break in or anything. Can you do that for me?"

Dragonite considered her plea, longer than he should have, for no reason other than his own pride preventing him from so quickly deferring to her. Still, he eventually nodded, and Iris let on a relieved smile.

"Thank you," she said. "And..." She swallowed. This was the hard part. "I want to come back for you. I plan to. But if... if I'm not back here in a month, 30 days, then you can just assume I won't be coming back, and you're free to leave."

Iris suddenly snapped out of her memory and into the present when she heard an agonized, angry roar. She jumped to her feet and saw the flock of Pidove flying from a nearby grove of trees. Iris recognized the cry as characteristic of a Dragon-type—and it wasn't a stretch to think it was, given her location—but she couldn't distinguish the species. She had heard the bawls and bellows of many Dragons throughout her life, but this one was unfamiliar.

She tore through some brush, toward where the Pidove had fled, ignoring the snaps of thin branches that left tiny welts and cuts in her skin. Then, she came upon a heartrending scene: A Noivern chained to a tree that was half-uprooted from him trying to escape. The web of his wing was torn with fresh blood, possibly self-inflicted while trying to break free.

The poor creature was also choking himself on the chains as he pulled against them. The tree and earth to which it was tethered was crackling and humming with the Noivern's efforts, and Iris quickly realized he would crushed if he succeeded in uprooting the tree.

"Hey! _Hey_!" Iris ran up to him, waving her arms. "Stop that! You're going to kill yourself!"

Noivern snapped at her and hissed a weak blue fire. The flames would have been more deadly, but Noivern was clearly dehydrated, and the chains pressed against his neck were depriving him of the oxygen necessary to fan his fire. Iris realized she would need to change her approach.

She quickly backed off of Noivern and retrieved one of her Pokéballs.

"Excadrill, use Metal Claw on that chain!" Iris ordered, calling the Ground-type out. Excadrill obeyed, albeit with a brief moment of hesitation seeing the enraged Noivern. He managed to dodge Noivern's erratic movements and cut the chain, freeing the Dragon. Noivern collapsed to the ground wheezing. Iris called back her Excadrill and looked toward the Noivern, considering her next move.

"Hey..." Iris began gently. She started moving toward him, slowly and carefully. Noivern's was still flat on the ground with labored breathing, but he kept a cautious eye on her. "It's okay... I'm not going to hurt you..."

Noivern shifted his body, looking defensive. It was a sign he would attack if she got closer, so Iris stopped.

"I just want to help you," she told him. "I just want to..." Her words changed. She seamlessly transitioned into a language only she and Noivern could understand, and Noivern perked up and loosened the tension in his muscles as she spoke her reassurances.

She started moving toward him again, and he let her. Finally, she was able to reach out and stroke Noivern's snout. She then gently trailed her hand down toward his neck. The chain had cut into the skin. Now close enough to better assess the damage, she also glanced at his wing. If it wasn't treated and became infected, he would never fly again.

Iris moved her eyes toward Noivern's again and cupped his face with both hands, now having gained his trust.

" _Thank you,_ " he told her.

"Of course," Iris replied. She stepped back and made a gesture for him to follow her. "Can you move okay? I want to take you to my village. The people can treat your wounds there."

Noivern appeared unsure, but Iris again outstretched her hand toward him and motioned for him to come, and he eventually agreed. He rose from the earth to his full stature and left the chains that had shackled him.

* * *

Cilan was surprised, to say the least, when he arrived at the bus station and saw a near-riotous throng of people crowding the ticket counters. The mob was so restless that even some local officers were on standby in case anything turned violent. Cilan wetted his lips and looked around, wanting to inquire what was happening—and he ended up seeing a familiar face standing just outside the mass.

"Stephan?" Cilan asked cautiously, in case he was mistaken, as he approached a red-haired trainer.

"Hm? Oh, hey Cilan!" It _was_ Stephan, and he grinned from ear to ear upon seeing the connoisseur. It had been a while since they last met, but they had always been on friendly terms.

"What's going on here?" Cilan asked, motioning toward the crowd. Stephan suddenly frowned.

"Well, uh—" he started, but paused and scratched his face, thinking over how he should best explain the situation. Cilan waited patiently. "... Last night, one of the company buses got into a 'bad accident.' But... some are saying it wasn't any accident. They say the charred remains of the bus had lightning bolts slathered in blue paint all over it."

Cilan's breath caught at the news. Stephan continued, "Lot of the bus drivers at the company walked off the job—too dangerous now. So, long story short, there's a bus shortage. They've started a waiting list to get a ticket."

"How long is it?" Cilan inquired.

"It was three days about an hour ago. Now it's a week," Stephan replied.

"A week!" Cilan exclaimed in both surprise and exasperation.

"Yeah, it's a real bummer." Stephan folded his arms and looked toward the ticket counter, which was barely visible through the horde. "I'm not gonna wait around that long. If the paint story is true, then it sounds like traveling by bus is just as dangerous as traveling on foot—if not more. I feel like a bus is more likely to be targeted than one person."

Cilan let out a long breath and contemplatively lowered his head. This certainly threw a wrench into his traveling plans. He would need to call his brothers and tell them he would be home much later than expected. Remembering he was in company, Cilan looked up again and asked, "Where are you headed?"

"Castelia City."

"Are you from there?"

"No, I uh..." Stephan hesitated, looked all around him, then discreetly rose his left and and right hand to form a "T" with his index fingers. Cilan watched, expressionless, as Stephan tapped the nail of his left index three times with his right. When Stephan lowered his hands, Cilan flicked his gaze toward his companion's again.

"I see," was all he said.

"Are you headed there, too? You and I could go together," Stephan offered.

"The offer is kind, but I must return to Striaton City first," Cilan said politely.

"Gotcha." Stephan nodded with understanding. "Well, if you and your brothers ever wanna catch up—just remember liberty, 'cause, you know what they say: 'The truth will set you free.'"

"Thank you. I've taken note of it." This wasn't the first time Cilan had heard it. He knew it likely wouldn't be the last. Stephan smiled again—the same genuine, full smile Stephan had worn since they were younger, a rare kind of smile, especially now; Cilan hoped he didn't lose it—and stepped back, apparently ready to leave.

"See you around, Cilan," Stephan said. "Stay safe in the meantime."

"Same to you, Stephan," Cilan replied. "Good luck."

Stephan waved as he left, and Cilan offered a small wave, too, before the other trainer disappeared. Cilan then glanced at the crowd one last time before turning away and heading in a different direction. He became deeply entrenched in thought as he replayed the brief conversation with Stephan over in his head, and a revelation that a return to Striaton City might not last long began to sink into him.

It was this thought that made him realize that he wasn't ready to return—not yet.

* * *

"Shannon!" Bare feet pounded against the earth as two young girls, their arms full of white and yellow flowers, ran down the patchy hill. Shannon, who sat near an aging Druddigon while feeding him a Yache berry from her hand, perked up when she saw the children headed toward her.

"Hello Malia, Flo." Shannon smiled, finished her feeding, and stood up, brushing the dirt off her skirt. "Where's your brother?"

"Dakota is still picking his," the younger, Flo, said. Her eyes, a currant red, were alive with anticipation, and her tawny cheeks were pink with a similar joy. The older, Malia, was in less high spirits; not unhappy, but solemn and hopeful that their work would bring smiles. She was old enough to see there were less of them in the village now and mature enough to understand why.

Shannon frowned, asking, "Why did you leave him?"

"He was taking _forever_ ," Flo complained.

"He kept cutting the stems too short," Malia added.

"Well, then you ought to help him," Shannon said. She took the flowers from each of the girls and carefully laid them on the ground. "I'll take good care of these. You go find Dakota, okay?"

"Fine..." Flo begrudgingly agreed.

She pulled on Malia's hand to lead her back up the hill, but they stopped when their brother, Dakota, suddenly appeared at the top, breathless and flowerless. He lit up when he saw his sisters and sprinted toward them, yelling, "Hey! Iris is back! She's coming back!"

"What? Really?!" Malia dropped her sister's hand and clasped hers together excitedly. Shannon overheard and looked on with slightly widened eyes.

"Yeah, yeah!" Dakota answered, nodding quickly. "I saw her! She's coming in with some Dragon—one I've never seen before!"

"Let's go see, Malia!" Flo begged. "We can make flower crowns later. Let's go see!"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Malia said before she ran off with her siblings.

Shannon relaxed into a smile again and settled herself beside Druddigon once more. She could hear other village children running out to greet Iris and see "the new Dragon," too. Iris had become quite popular, a small-time celebrity and role model, in the settlement since she'd gone to train with Drayden at the Opelucid City Gym. The children especially adored her and honestly believed she was famous, or going to be famous, and they flocked to her anytime she returned home.

Shannon ran her fingers across the stems of the flowers the girls had picked, a cursory check for whether they were long enough—they were.

A smiling Iris soon appeared on the crest of the hill, surrounded by nearly a dozen children, some as young as 4 and some as old as 14. Iris's right hand clutched that of young Flo's while the other rested upon the visibly injured neck of a restless Noivern. Iris's calming touch kept him at bay, however, and ensured that no ill would fall upon him—or the children.

"What is it?" a different village boy, Shilah, asked, looking at the Noivern curiously.

"A Noivern," Iris answered. "You don't see them in Unova, usually. They come from a faraway place called Kalos." The children ooh'd at this and became even more excited at the realization that they weren't just meeting a new Dragon—they were meeting a _rare_ one.

"Where'd you find him?" Dakota asked.

"Just outside the village," Iris replied. "You see his wing? He accidentally hurt himself while stuck to a tree, and he needs someone to take care of him."

The children's expressions turned more serious upon this statement, and Malia asked, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Iris didn't answer initially. She noticed Shannon sitting nearby, and their gazes connected, acknowledging each other's presence. It broke when Malia repeated the question, and Iris, a tiny bit flustered, answered, "Uh—yes!" She let go of Flo's hand and placed her own on Noivern's snout. "Malia, Dakota, Flo—is your father here?" she asked, looking toward the three siblings.

"Yeah, he is," Dakota answered.

"I want you to take Noivern to him," Iris said. "He'll know what to do." She looked toward the rest of the children, too. "Can I trust you all to escort him safely?"

Her request was met with a resounding "yes," and Iris turned to the Noivern, pressed her face against his, and mumbled something to him that few of the children could understand. Iris pulled away, and Noivern seemed placated. Malia stepped up to Dragon, cautiously placed her hand on his neck as Iris had, and said her own enigmatic words to him before beginning to lead him away with the rest of the children—except one—in tow.

"Is something wrong, Flo?" Iris asked the one remaining child, crouching beside her. Flo looked down and shuffled her feet nervously.

"I just have a small question," she began.

"Sure. What is it?"

Flo looked up again and asked, "Are you the Opelucid Gym Leader now?"

Iris stared. The question was unexpected, and yet, she knew she should have expected it. Benga had asked the same question at the funeral, but she had expected it then, because she was there, in that city, and she lived in that gym. Now she was gone, and the inquiry had somehow turned painful. Iris straightened up, sobered.

"Yes... I suppose I am," she said, not knowing what else to say. She was, but she wasn't. She had boarded up the gym. She wasn't accepting challengers, obviously. Then again, Iris wondered to herself, were any gym leaders accepting challengers? Still, Flo nodded, satisfied by this answer, and ran off to catch up with the rest of children. Shannon had watched the entire scene unfold, and now that she had Iris alone, she stood again and approached.

"Flo doesn't have a good filter," Shannon remarked.

"She's 5," Iris dismissed. "Most 5-year-olds don't. I didn't."

Shannon smiled weakly. Iris had seemed so bright and good-humored, maybe only a little off, when she first returned—undoubtedly a front for the children. Now that they were gone, she was vulnerable and sad again.

"How are you doing?" Shannon asked gently.

"As good as I can be doing, I guess," Iris replied with a shrug. She then changed the subject, saying, "You don't seem surprised to see me here."

"I knew you were going to come," Shannon admitted. "I mean, I didn't know _know_ , but I had a feeling. As soon as the news of Drayden reached us, I knew you'd want to come here."

"... Is there a reason for that?" Iris asked.

"I knew you'd want to speak with the Elder," Shannon said, a little surprised Iris had questioned it.

Iris raised an eyebrow. She carefully analyzed her friend's face, as though she were looking for some secret sign or insight, which quickly unsettled Shannon. No longer able to stand Iris's peeling gaze, Shannon asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing." Iris shook her head. "You're right. I _am_ here to see the Elder. How did you know?"

Shannon became more exasperated, and it showed when she replied, "I don't know—I just guessed! Why are you so suspicious of me all of a sudden?" Iris drew back, realizing Shannon knew nothing and feeling guilty for pushing her.

"No reason. Sorry." She started down the path, and Shannon did a double-take between her and the flowers and Druddigon. She resigned herself to following Iris, however, supposing the children would no longer be interested in making flower crowns now that Iris had set them to work.

"How has the village been?" Iris asked once Shannon had caught up. She had assumed her friend would follow. "I mean, since Drayden..."

"Well... of course people are upset. He's a legend around here. Kind of like you," Shannon said. Iris scoffed and nearly protested that she was not a legend—sure, the kids liked her, but to compare her to Drayden felt like an insult to his memory—but Shannon continued, "The only family he has left around here, though, is the Elder. We haven't seen too much of her."

Hearing this depressed Iris, but she pressed on with her questions. "What are people saying about his death? How he died, I mean," she asked. Shannon gave her an odd look.

"It's... a tragedy," Shannon said, unsure of what Iris wanted. "There isn't much else to say about a car crash."

Although Iris knew this was coming after Shannon's initial reaction, the response still cut deep. She pursed her lips and averted her eyes, disappointed. She had earnestly hoped—earnestly _believed_ —that talk in the village would be different, and she was dispirited it wasn't.

"Right..." Iris trailed off. The Elder's home came into view, and Iris stopped. "I'm sorry. I know I'm acting weird. I guess Drayden dying has really gotten to me."

Shannon nodded understandingly and said, "It's okay. I shouldn't have expected anything else." She started to move away, recognizing that Iris wanted to speak to the Elder alone. "Well... good luck."

She left, and Iris watched her go. Once she had disappeared from sight, Iris turned toward the home again, sucked in her breath, and strode toward the door. After ambling up the wooden stairs, she pushed away the curtain covering the open wooden door—the Elder rarely closed it, except when it was cold—and peered inside. It was dark; the fire was unlit, and most of the windows were closed, letting little natural light inside.

"Elder?" Iris inquired, moving inside. There was no response, and for a moment, Iris wondered if the matriarch was there at all. Then—

"Iris? Is that you?" From the shadows of another room, Iris saw the aging woman step forward.

"Yes, it's me, Elder," Iris said, going to her and grasping her hands. Iris was taller than her now, which spoke more of the Elder's stature than Iris's, given that Iris barely cracked 5 feet.

"It's so good to see you again, child." She gently touched Iris's head and bowed it down so she could kiss her hairline. "I knew you'd be coming here soon." The Elder then let go of Iris's hands and sank to a comfortable position on her knees in front of the table. Iris followed suit.

"Shannon said the same thing," Iris remarked, adjusting herself on the cushion.

"Shannon is a bright girl," was all the Elder said in response. A pregnant pause followed, and the Elder rose her eyes toward Iris and perceived the uncertainty in her expression. "It seems the distrust of these times has affected you."

"Distrust?" Iris repeated.

"You're hesitant to be open with me," the Elder observed. "Why is that?"

Iris curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, suddenly nervous. "He was your son," she said. "I don't want to be insensitive." The Elder said nothing for a while. She reached out toward a ceramic pitcher of water and matching cups at the center of the table and poured herself a drink. Then, she poured a second drink for Iris, who was watching her senior in anticipation, and pushed it toward her.

"The funeral was a couple days ago, wasn't it?" the Elder inquired, pulling her own drink toward her. "I'm supposing you're wondering why I, his mother, wasn't in attendance."

Iris blinked and appeared even more unsure than before. She _hadn't_ wondered, but the Elder wouldn't have brought it up unless it were somehow relevant.

"You're—You're not in the same health that you used to be. Traveling is harder," Iris excused her. "Besides, it's really unusual for the Elder to leave the village for any reason."

"That is all true," the Elder said with a slow nod. "Regardless, it would be too upsetting to grieve for a fictitious accident."

Iris's eyes widened suddenly, her breath catching as they did. _There_ was the point.

"Wait—so then—" Iris fumbled for the right words as she grew more excited. "You know, too. You _know_ it wasn't a car crash." The Elder again said nothing, only taking a sip of her drink. Feeling vindicated, Iris quickly pulled her bag off her shoulder and rummaged through it. She eventually pulled out a torn envelope and held it toward the Elder, saying, "I received this letter, from Drayden, just the other day. Were you the person who sent it to me?"

The Elder didn't reach for the letter.

"No," she answered.

Iris stared. Her enthusiasm deflated, and her hand, the one holding the letter, slowly fell to her side again.

"... No?" Iris voice became smaller, quieter. "I don't understand. Who sent it to me then?"

"I think you know," the Elder said candidly.

"Well, I _thought_ it was Alder," Iris admitted, "but I asked him about it the other day, and he wasn't being straight with me."

"Which gives you plenty of reason to believe it was him," the Elder pointed out. She laid her cup back down on the table and folded her hands. "Alder is justified in staying quiet. To do otherwise could potentially put you, him, and anyone close to either of you in danger."

Iris pursed her lips.

"It sounds like you know what's in this letter," she remarked.

"Drayden came to see me, too, after he left the Opelucid Gym," the Elder confessed. For some inexplicable reason, Iris felt like crying again. She didn't, but the feeling of disappointment, of grief, rose back into her chest. The Elder must have sensed Iris's emotional ailment, because it wasn't until the feelings passed that she asked, "What are you planning on doing?"

Iris lowered her brow, looking confused.

"I have to finish what he started," she said as though it were obvious. The Elder let on a depressed, wrinkled smile, which troubled Iris.

"You remember the legend of the Tao Trio, don't you?" the Elder asked.

"Of... Of course I do," Iris answered, unsure of where the Elder was going with this. "You used to tell it to me all the time when I was young."

"Then you also must remember that, according to the legend, Reshiram can only defer to the Hero of Truth while Zekrom can only defer to the Hero of Ideals." The Elder's expression deadpanned before she added, "Drayden could speak to Dragons like you can. He was not, however, the Hero of Truth."

If the Elder's goal was to rattle Iris—it worked.

"I-It's just a legend, Elder." Iris stammered only a little when she spoke.

"Based in historical truth," the Elder reminded her. She then rose to her feet and clasped her hands together, and Iris followed suit. She knew this was a sign the Elder would be ending the conversation. The Elder went on, "I know I won't be able to convince you, though. Please, child, be careful. Drayden is not the first person I've lost to this legend. He is not the first person you've lost to this legend either."

Iris licked her lips and glanced down. She realized she hadn't touched the water the Elder had offered her at all.

"I know," she said quietly.

* * *

Iris smiled contentedly as she settled into the warmth of her mother's arms, her lap, near the glow of a robust fire. Her small fingers, still inflexible from the storm beating against the windows, clutched a cup of warm water that had been boiled prior to her family's arrival. She and her mother sat at a table across from the matriarch of the Village of Dragons—the Elder, a woman Iris had not met up until then—while her father stood near one of the shaking windows, watching the snow pile in massive amounts outside.

"The storm is getting worse," he said worriedly, looking toward his wife and the Elder. "Has Kyurem ever been this angry before?"

The Elder drank from her cup, then calmly answered, "No one has been foolish enough before to disturb him."

Iris felt her mother, who perceived the Elder's response as a jab, tense up. Her father cast her mother a careful glance, a silent plea to control her temper, but she proceeded anyway, saying, "Elder, people have died in this storm. It has spread everywhere in Unova. Even if it were to clear up tomorrow, much of the nation's harvest has been destroyed, and there will be food shortages. If we don't do something—"

"Nadie, there is nothing we can reasonably do," the Elder told her gently, "except give Kyurem the space to recover. This started because of the radicals who attempted to capture him. To visit him now could exacerbate the problem and cost you your lives."

Nadie drew into herself, bringing Iris closer to her as she did. She kept her head low for a while, her crimson eyes searching the ground beneath her for a response, while both her husband and the Elder looked on. Finally, she straightened up and said, "Elder, Mukul can speak to Dragons, too. I've taught him how. He can speak better than most of the people in the village."

The Elder, however, merely frowned and shook her head, saying, "It will take much more than just an ability to speak to Dragons."

"What will it take?" Mukul spoke up. The question appeared to surprise the Elder, at least briefly. She had not expected either would ask, but she nevertheless settled down to explain.

"While Reshiram and Zekrom are fated to start wars, make no mistake: Kyurem is every bit as dangerous, if not more," the Elder warned him. "Kyurem carries the grief of their conflict. He mourns the loss of when they were one. The only way to truly—to permanently—assuage him is to end that conflict, to restore peace between Reshiram and Zekrom."

Nadie closed her eyes and sighed.

"There is no way..." she started. "We don't have the time for that."

"You're right," the Elder affirmed with a nod. "There is no time for it, and it would be a task as perilous as this one. We're better suited to wait for Kyurem's rage to subside on its own and for him to fall back into his dormant state."

"By then, it might be too late, and Unova will have frozen over," Nadie said. The Elder pressed her lips into a hard line, and Nadie apologetically, quietly, added, "I'm sorry, Elder. But we have to do this."

The Elder said nothing. There was a deep, widening pool of emptiness in her dark magenta eyes; she had grown distraught by what she perceived as a failure to persuade one of her own, a member of her clan, to avoid inevitable death. Mukul's expression showed he sympathized, even if he agreed with his wife, who remained firm even in the face of inner torment.

"Will you watch our daughter while we go?" Mukul requested kindly after a long period of silence.

The Elder hesitated, glancing at Iris, and then back at her parents. She opened her mouth to reply but shut it again.

"No," she eventually decided.

"No?" Nadie appeared shocked.

"To agree to care for your daughter would be to condone this mission," the Elder explained. "I cannot condone it. I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else."

Nadie looked and sounded exasperated when she said, "There is no one else. You know I have no more family here."

"You'll figure it out," the Elder tacitly replied. She rose to her feet and clasped her hands together. "I know I won't be able to convince you, though. Please, child, be careful."

Iris opened her eyes, awake in the present with the Elder's words ringing in her ears. Morning had come again. She could hear the songs of Pidove outside her window, punctured by the familiar roars and cries of Dragons that were ever-present in the village. Yet, Iris didn't move, only staring at the wooden ceiling, decorated with elaborate paintings of flowers and Dragons, for a while before finally letting out a shaky breath.

"Well, good morning."

Iris blinked, then furrowed her eyebrows as her head fell to the side and she saw Cilan standing near the door in her room. A low, mildly annoyed grumble emerged from the back of her throat.

"Geez, have you been watching me sleep?" she asked dryly, her voice still hoarse with drowsiness. There were a hundred other things she could have asked him—"What are you doing here?", for instance—but this was the first question that came to mind.

"No, I just walked in," Cilan replied coolly.

"You creep," Iris scoffed as she slid her pillow out from beneath her head and threw it at him. He caught it with ease.

"I'm not lying," he insisted.

"Right, right." Iris sat up, stretched, and pushed her hand through her long hair. She then smiled and teasingly added, "It would be 'ungentlemanly' to watch a lady sleep."

"Not without her permission," Cilan said cheekily, and Iris wished she had another pillow to throw at him.

"I thought you would have been back in Striaton City by now," Iris remarked as she peeled her covers off her and slid to the edge of the bed.

"I would have, but there was a hold-up at the Lacunosa bus station," Cilan explained, his eyes following her as she stood and passed him on the way to her bag, where she kept all her clothes. "I decided to come looking for you, but when I made it back to Opelucid City, the doors to your gym were locked and the windows were all boarded."

"So how did you know I was here?" Iris asked, pulling out a yellow blouse and shaking it, as if doing so would rid it of all the wrinkles of travel.

"It was either here or on the way to Castelia City," Cilan said. "I guessed here, and I guessed right."

"Uh-huh." Iris appeared no more impressed. "You know, I'm half-surprised _you_ haven't run off to Castelia yet."

Cilan inhaled before admitting, "I might, but I have my brothers to consider."

"All three of you, then."

He folded his arms and suddenly looked uncomfortable. Iris stopped her search for an outfit and watched him with a tilted head and lowered brow, confused as to why he had so quickly sunken into consternation. Whatever internal struggle he was having, he finally overcame it and said, "I imagine we might be following your lead on closing up the gym after I return."

Iris said nothing at first. She watched him for a moment, then turned to her bag again and pulled out a pair of jean shorts. "Is that why you came to find me first?" she eventually asked, a little sharply.

"Excuse me?" Cilan perked up, surprised by her near-offended tone.

"You want me to join the Truth Seekers with you and your brothers, don't you?" She said it as if it were a dirty accusation, as if he _had_ actually been watching her sleep.

"You say that with such disgust," Cilan remarked with a somewhat contemplative expression. "I'm surprised. I thought if there was anyone who would be prime for joining a revolution, it would be you—especially given what happened a few days ago."

Iris scoffed.

"It's not a revolution—there's nothing revolutionary about them," she said. Cilan raised an eyebrow, about to inquire what she meant, but then she added, "Besides, I have some other business to take care of."

Abandoning his questions about her distaste, Cilan asked, "What kind of business?"

"Business that isn't yours," Iris dismissed. She laid her blouse and shorts on the back of a chair and glanced back at him, casually ordering, "Turn around."

He did so without comment or complaint, and Iris pulled her shirt over her head. If there was one thing Iris appreciated about Cilan—and there were admittedly a lot of things she appreciated about him, despite all the grief she had given him over the years—it was that he acted under no false pretenses. He presented himself as a gentleman, and he was one. She knew there would be no chance of him craning his neck to steal a glance of her undressing. As if he would be tempted, anyway.

Her brief moment of admiration faded into more serious considerations, however, at the implications of his visit, and she asked—half-demanded, really—"Why would you want to join the Truth Seekers?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Cilan threw back at her without missing a beat. If Iris was willing to invest the time and risk the toll, she could have constructed an answer—a meaningful, well-thought-out answer—but she had just woken up, and to answer would mean she would need to dig into more personal, more intimate, areas of her history, areas she wasn't willing to share, even with him. So, she said nothing.

Iris pulled the last button her shirt through its corresponding loop and said, quietly, "It's safe now."

Cilan faced her again, and she folded her arms, averting her eyes.

"When are you leaving?" he asked gently.

"You assume I'm leaving."

"I know you," Cilan said. "There's no way you're staying."

He had a point.

"Today," she answered.

"Today," he repeated.

Guilt struck Iris. He had taken a detour from his journey back home just to see her, because he wanted her to travel with him, and she was leaving—without him. Even if she didn't have her own mission to fulfill, she still wouldn't go with him; she wanted nothing to do with the Truth Seekers. Iris zipped up her bag and dragged it with her back toward her bed. She plopped down on the edge and looked up at him, trying to find the right words to say—an apology, maybe, for inconveniencing him—and he was evidently doing the same.

"There's a Dragon-type I'm looking out for right now," Iris finally said after clearing her throat. "Would you like to meet him?"

Cilan managed to work up a smile.

"Sure," he agreed.

* * *

Summer was closer today than it was yesterday and the day before that. Iris found herself raising a hand to wipe away a line of perspiration on her forehead as she and Cilan moved down the path to the lower end of the village, where the breeder—Malia and her siblings' father, the man to whom Iris had entrusted Noivern—lived. As they approached the cabin, however, Iris perked up when she spotted Shannon sitting with the children outside, and she jogged forward to meet them.

"Hello Iris!" Flo beamed and waved at her. In her tiny hands was a half-finished flower crown. A pile of completed ones sat at the center of a group semicircle.

"Hello," Iris greeted, bending down so she could meet the children, and Shannon, at their level. "What are you all doing?"

"Making flower crowns!" Flo exclaimed, holding hers up.

"I can see that."

Cilan caught up with Iris, and the three children collectively dropped their reddish eyes and tightened their arms, as if afraid. Iris frowned and flicked her gaze toward Cilan, wondering if he would notice and half-hoping he wouldn't. He had, and it estranged him—he had visited the village before and had always, up until then, been welcomed as a guest rather than treated as an outsider—but he took it in stride.

"Good morning, Shannon," Cilan said, focusing instead on his old acquaintance and Iris's friend. Shannon smiled weakly, sympathetically; she was cognizant of children's behavior, and her expression was apologetic.

"Morning," she greeted as she plucked another flower from the collection and threaded it into her crown. "The children thought that, maybe to cheer some people up in the village, we should make flower crowns and give them out."

"What a wonderful idea," Cilan commended, smiling at the siblings. They remained reticent, furthering his unease. Now sure he was aware of his exclusion, Iris furrowed her brow and looked pointedly at the oldest, Malia.

"Malia?" Iris pressed.

"Thank you," Malia said quietly, finally acknowledging him. She threaded one last stem into her crown then held it out toward Iris. "Here, you should take this."

Iris blinked in surprise.

"Me?" she questioned.

"Yeah," Malia responded. She stood and placed the flower crown on Iris's head. "I think you need one."

Iris was touched; yet, the gestured also subdued her. It was an a painful reminder, albeit unintentional, that they were still in a period of mourning. It made her itch to leave, and Iris hated that. It was a lonelier realization to want to leave the Village of Dragons, where she had spent the better half of her youth, than to want to leave the Opelucid Gym. She had lost her sense of home both here and there.

"Thank you," Iris said, reaching up to touch one of the petals. She slowly rose to her feet again before asking, "Is your father here?"

"Uh-huh," Dakota affirmed. "He's inside."

"Okay," Iris said, nodding. "Thank you again for the crown, Malia."

She headed toward the cabin and indicated for Cilan to follow. The door was open, so Iris didn't hesitate to enter, but Cilan did, unaccustomed to their cultural sociability. Iris, however, again gestured for him to follow, so he did.

"Jolon?" she called once she had Cilan on her heels. "Are you there?"

A beat of silence followed. Then, "Is that Iris I hear?" A middle-aged, rugged man appeared at the top of the stairs. "Ah, so it is!" He descended to meet her, but his smile disappeared and his red gaze hardened when he noticed Cilan with her. Again, the connoisseur was caught off guard by the sudden unwelcome air.

"Who's this?" Jolon asked, a little stiffly.

Iris had apparently anticipated this antagonism, because she quickly, coolly responded, "This is Cilan. He's a gym leader from Striaton City. He and I have been friends for a very long time." She then added, reassuringly, "He's nothing to worry about."

This eased Jolon somewhat, but he remained wary.

"I'm guessing you're here to check up on your Dragon?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Mm-hm," Iris hummed, nodding.

"I treated the cut on his neck for infection and patched up his wing. It should be all right, as long as he takes it easy. No battling, or anything like that. The stitches'll dissolve on their own," Jolon explained. "Last I saw, he was out meandering near the river. He's not gonna want to be here long. He barely tolerates me n' Malia—seems to like you all right though, from what Dakota was saying."

"I rescued him, so I guess that comes at no surprise," Iris admitted.

"Still—you're leaving, aren't you? You ought to consider catching him and taking him with you," Jolon suggested. "He's likely to wander off and get into a scuffle with one of the other Dragons if he stays here. He'd be better off in your care, even if you're traveling."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Iris doubted. "I'm—" She stopped short. She did not want to say her journey would be unsafe, not with Cilan standing there, because then he would worry and question her.

Iris's pause incited Jolon's own misgivings, however, and he suspiciously asked, "Where are you headed anyway?"

"I'm not joining the Truth Seekers, if that's what you're thinking," Iris dismissed. Cilan looked at her incredulously, but Jolon relaxed again.

"Well, anyway—I really do think taking the thing with you will be for the better," he said.

Iris pressed her lips tightly together. Both he and Cilan were watching her, so she gave in and agreed. Jolon turned around and headed toward a desk pushed up against the wall. He pulled open one of the drawers, retrieved an empty Pokéball, and offered it to her, but Iris shook her head.

"I have already have one, but thank you," she said. Yet, he insisted, grasping her hand and pressing the ball into it.

"Take it. You never know when you'll need an extra," he told her.

* * *

It wasn't until they had left the cabin and were out of the earshot of any villagers that Cilan considered asking Iris why he was being treated with such contempt—but for a person trained to speak in decorous prose, he was having trouble figuring out how to phrase his question, and he doubted whether he should bring it up at all.

Yet, his internal wordsmithing was interrupted when Iris mumbled, "Sorry about all that back there." Cilan knew what she meant, but he looked at her pointedly, waiting for an elaboration. She smiled weakly and continued, "The Village of Dragons might be separated from most of Unova, but we're not immune to what's been happening. Try not to take anything personally. People are just more cautious of strangers, especially ones that look like you."

"Ah, do I _look_ like a Truth Seeker, then?" Cilan asked lightly.

"You do, actually," she half-laughed. Her expression then deadpanned, and she added more seriously, "We have our reasons for disliking the Truth Seekers."

An uncomfortable tension lingered behind those words. Iris realized she wasn't going to convince him, and Cilan realized if—when—he joined the group, he would inevitably upset Iris. He wanted to press for her reasons behind her disapproval of the Truth Seekers, but he was unable to do so as Iris suddenly perked up and exclaimed, "There he is! That's him!"

She hurried ahead, and Cilan watched as she met a slender, purplish Dragon who had evidently undergone some ill treatment.

"A Noivern?" Cilan questioned, slowly approaching the pair. He wasn't naïve; running up beside Iris, too, could potentially agitate the Pokémon and put both trainers in danger. Iris laid her hand on Noivern's snout comfortingly, though, and signaled that it was okay for Cilan to come.

"Mhm," she hummed. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"He's certainly rare around here." Cilan hesitated before lifting a hand and gently stroking the Dragon, just below the cuts on his neck. Noivern tensed at first, but Iris cooed at him, and he relaxed again.

"He's not wild," Iris eventually explained. "He was abandoned by his trainer."

Cilan frowned.

"How sad," he mused.

"Yeah, well," Iris started with a shrug, "there are a lot of irresponsible trainers out there. Dragon-types are the hardest of all Pokémon to raise. People catch them when they're little, and after they evolve, they don't know how to take care of them or how to manage their behavior—so they just leave them." On that note, Iris pulled out one of the empty Pokéballs in her bag and held it out toward Noivern. The Noivern stared at it for a while, then looked at Iris, unsure.

"I know you've had a bad experience," she began, "but I'm not going to let that happen again. If you come with me, I promise I'll take good care of you. Trust me, I know how to speak to Dragons."

Noivern carefully considered her offer for a while, and Iris patiently waited with a smile. Cilan watched with some fascination—and admiration. She had come a long way since they were children (she still was a child, really), and the proof presented itself when Noivern finally nudged the button on the front of the Pokéball and let himself inside. The ball locked, confirming her capture, and Iris's smile widened.

"That was quick," Cilan complimented her.

"It starts with trust," Iris said as she slid the Pokéball into her pocket.

They started for the village again silently, knowing a parting was soon to come. Yet, a troubling question started to weigh heavily on Cilan, and he eventually cast Iris a sideways glance, inquiring, "Iris?"

"Yeah?" She looked at him, too.

"Will you hate me if I join the Truth Seekers?" he calmly asked her.

Iris stopped and stared at him with wide eyes.

"N-No, of course not!" she answered after a brief pause.

"You hate the Truth Seekers," Cilan pointed out. Iris folded her hands under her arms and averted her eyes from his, now uncomfortable.

"I just don't get why anyone would want to join them," she said.

"Why is that?" he pressed. Her eyes didn't rise.

"It's hard to explain," Iris began, starting to move again. Cilan followed her. "You have to understand the history behind them, I guess. It's the _idea_ of them, really. Although, I guess this whole thing started because of ideas, but anyway..."

Cilan stopped suddenly, his eyes widening at something ahead of them. Iris's head was still low, so she couldn't see.

"Iris..." he started with a slight tremor in his voice.

"It's all rooted in this old—" Iris continued on, not paying attention, but she was cut off.

"—Iris," Cilan said more firmly.

"What?" Iris faced him, annoyed. Yet, when she saw the look upon his face—the drained, horrified appearance—her irritation transformed into alarm, and she spun around to see whatever he was staring at.

He stomach dropped. From the trees, she could see a pair of scorched human feet hanging below a canopy of leaves. Trickles of dried blue paint had run down the skin, between the toes, and formed a puddle, now cracked under the heat of the sun, on the ground beneath the body. Iris sucked in her breath; she couldn't see the face through the leaves, and without considering the nightmares that would follow, she moved under the umbrella and looked up. It was a male, his face charred from whatever had burned him and distorted from the rope that hung around his neck. She realized the blue paint was applied in the shape of a lightning bolt.

She turned away, disgusted. Cilan, color returning to his face, shook his head and said, "And you wonder why anyone would want to join the Truth Seekers?"

Iris's bottom lip quivered. She couldn't find anything to say for a while. She felt sick to her stomach, and she knew it didn't make any sense, but when she saw the face of the corpse, she saw Cilan's own countenance. The realization that he would be traveling alone suddenly terrified her.

Eventually, Iris managed to bring her eyes toward Cilan's again and ask, "You're still going to Striaton first, right?"

Cilan looked at her with incredulity. The question seemed wildly inappropriate in their new scenery.

"Yes... ?" he answered, put off.

"Well, I—" Iris paused and wrung her hands together. "It... It just so happens I'm headed in that same direction. We should go together."

Cilan seemed to understand then.

"... All right," he agreed with a small nod.

Iris turned away again

"We need to go back," she said softly. "We need to tell someone. One of the men in the village will take care of the body."

"Right." Cilan nodded again.

They left, deeply impressed, deeply disturbed, but above all, deeply afraid.


	3. What Burns

**Chapter III: What Burns**

 _As a nation, we're really good at making stuff up—pretending. And I don't just mean the kind of pretending when you're 5, and you're out with your friend down the block, and one of you plays the Hero of Ideals while the other is the Hero of Truth, and your families' Herdier and Houndour are dressed up in black and white capes. It's different. It's more deceitful. It's the kind of pretending where you imagine up a new reality—an idealized reality that conveniently fits your narrative—to replace the truth._

 _No one—no one who's sane, at least—wants a war. There were some who so adamantly didn't want a war, though, that they tried to ignore its existence. They listened to the radio hosts, the television anchors, to the writers, and to the friends who affirmed their own beliefs and labeled those who spoke differently as crazy, which is how the war started in the first place. The new period of denial was why so many readily accepted the story that Drayden Pollock died in a car accident._

 _But for every person in denial, there was another who silently thought there was more than what we were being told. That's how the Truth Seekers ended up getting so popular. It capitalized on a demand to know the truth and turned into a growing underground army against the "other" radicals whose ideals sought to change everything we knew against our own comfort._

 _And yet, we were all still pretending. They wore the black cape, and the Truth Seekers wore the white._

* * *

Iris could see her mother's fingers trembling as she tensely pressed each button on her coat through its corresponding loop. This was the third article of upper-body clothing her mother had pulled over her head that morning, starting with a thermal, then a sweater, and now this. They were inside, near the fire, and despite the persistent snowfall that had lasted for days by then, Iris was sweating like the summer had never vanished under dark gray clouds.

"There," her mother declared in a breathy tremor, "all finished." She rose from her knees and looked directly at her husband, who was packing up a last few essentials. He felt her worried gaze fall upon him though, and he stopped and swept toward her, grasping her shoulders.

"Nadie, are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her in a low voice. He was prepared to give her an out, let her retreat, but she shook her head.

"We have no choice," she said. Yet, Nadie's eyes turned to her daughter, who looked two sizes bigger in her layers of clothing, and drew in a shaky breath. "She comes first, though. Out there—she comes first."

Mukul's hands slid down her arms.

"Of course," he agreed with gravity. Any other option was unconscionable. Nadie nodded and drew away, wrapping her arms around herself.

"There's no reason to worry anyway," she said more firmly. "We'll be fine." She turned away and left the room. Mukul watched her go then focused his attention on his daughter. He sank to his knees before her, as her mother had, and he readjusted her coat so her tiny shoulders filled it completely.

"Iris, my dear," he began tenderly, cupping her face. "We're going on a—hike. It's very cold out there. If you stay close to your mother and I though, I promise nothing bad will happen to you."

Iris stared, feeling unease at her father's words. They had been on hikes before; they were travelers. Her family had been on the move trekking through deserts and mountains and forests since she had been born. She couldn't understand why he sounded so serious now, why his eyes were filled with such uncertainty now as his hot, anxious breath heated the tip of her nose. Nevertheless, she nodded and, in a quiet voice, said, "Okay."

Iris's nose wrinkled at another warm puff of air in her face. She cracked open her eyes and found herself staring directly into the deep red, puppy-like eyes of her Fraxure. He was lying on his side, next to her sleeping bag, his face being a mere few inches away from his hers. This was not the first time Iris had woken up to such a sight; the occurrence of waking up with Fraxure uncomfortably close to her was so common, in fact, that it had stopped surprising her entirely.

"What?" she grumbled, and Fraxure whined as he sat up and looked longingly at some nearby brush. Iris sat up, too, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before trying to find whatever had Fraxure so emotionally compromised.

It didn't take long to figure out: Emolga was out of her Pokéball and protectively squabbling with Gabite over a stockpile of a Pecha berries. Gabite had put on his best Scary Face, trying to get her to fold, but Emolga—as stubborn as ever—refused to budge. Excadrill sat nearby, his claws crossed, with an annoyed eye turned toward Emolga; Cilan's Crustle appeared equally irritated but was disinterested in getting involved and was hoping Gabite would resolve the issue; Stunfisk was expressionless; Noivern was the furthest removed from the group, and he looked on with deep distrust.

"Emolga, don't hoard," Iris reprimanded, her voice still a little hoarse in her post-dream state. "Share some with the other Pokémon, too."

Emolga glowered at her, and Iris shot a warning look back, but Emolga remained unwilling to stand down—until a particularly large, ripe Pecha berry dropped from above, hitting the Electric-type squarely on the head. Emolga threw a tantrum, but Pansage, hanging in the tree above, merely chuckled. That was when Emolga finally gave in; she snapped up a couple berries and stormed away to eat by herself while the rest of the Pokémon enjoyed the—quite literal—fruits of their victory.

Except one.

Iris nodded appreciatively at Pansage, who beamed in response, before she went to pick up a few of the berries left untouched by the hungry Pokémon. From there, she turned toward Noivern, still a fair distance away, and made sure she had his gaze before approaching. Once she was close enough, she held out one of the Pecha berries to him. Noivern looked at it and then at her suspiciously.

"It's okay," Iris encouraged. "It's sweet. You'll like it."

He remained unsure. He sniffed at the berry in her hand and cast one last skeptical glance at his new trainer before taking the whole fruit into his mouth, tearing into the soft, pink flesh with his teeth. In his haste, a portion of the berry's juices dribbled down his chin and past the healing gash in his neck—which he would regret, as his changing expression showed he evidently liked the taste. Now with no hesitation, he reached for the other berry in Iris's left hand, quickly devouring that one too. Iris laughed and rubbed his snout affectionately.

"See? I told you that you would like it..."

The smell of breakfast carried her to Cilan next. He was further central to their makeshift camp and therefore blissfully unaware of the conflict between their Pokémon. But, Iris decided not to bother him with the details as she settled cross-legged on a patch of grass next to a low-burning fire, over which their meal cooked.

"Good morning," Cilan greeted her with a smile when she arrived.

"Morning," Iris replied. She leaned closer to the pot, trying to catch a glimpse of their food. "What's on the menu?"

"A Pecha-spice breakfast soup," Cilan answered. He stirred the ladle through the broth for a couple rounds before retrieving a bowl and filling it. "Pansage found a tree growing nearby." Iris's lips twitched into a weak smile.

"I noticed," she said as he handed her the bowl and a spoon. "Thanks."

Iris dipped into the soup and brought the first spoonful to her lips, blowing the steam off the top before indulging in her first taste. It was thick, sweet, piquant, and, of course, delicious; she would not have expected anything else from Cilan's cooking. Yet, even as she enjoyed her complimentary meal, her mind began to wander into last night's dream, and Cilan noticed the distraction in her eyes. He cleared his throat to speak, snapping her out of her trance.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he began tentatively.

"Mhm?" Iris hummed, indicating he had managed to gain her attention.

"We're less than two miles away from Nimbasa City," Cilan went on. "One of the campuses for the Pokémon Connoisseur Association is located near the heart of the city. Gerard Poltiere is the President of the PCA and a former professor of mine, and I've been thinking I ought to go see him."

"For how long?" Iris asked.

"Oh, just a quick visit," Cilan assured her. "We'll be back on the road in the early afternoon.

Iris pressed her lips together, hesitating. Yet, she knew she wouldn't deny him this, and she was unwilling to separate, so she sighed, "Okay. Fine."

"Are you sure?" Cilan immediately sensed her reluctance.

" _Yes_ , I'm sure," Iris asserted. "You should see your professor."

Cilan was unconvinced and a twinge guilty at having brought it up; Iris still refused to tell him what she planned on doing, but there was an urgency in everything she did, and he didn't doubt she saw this detour as a setback. Still, he thanked her, and she nodded to him in acknowledgement but said nothing further. It wasn't long before he could feel her growing distant again; he had no idea where her mind might be, except that it certainly wasn't with him.

"Iris?" he inquired, and she snapped her head toward him again. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, why?" Her tone made it sound like he was inventing all her behaviors in his own head.

"You seem a bit... off this morning," Cilan said carefully. Iris seemed to understand what he meant then.

"I just had a weird dream," she mumbled. "That's all."

* * *

Burgundy craned her neck, looking hopefully at the flouncy waitress who appeared to be coming their—her and Georgia's—way, but she passed by without a glance. Burgundy glowered at her, her eyes trying to burrow into the back of the waitress's neck as she attended to other customers in the busy breakfast diner, as if she would be able to feel the resentment in it. Yet, when the waitress finished chatting with the other patrons, she wordlessly passed by again, and Burgundy sunk into her chair with a groan.

"If our server could come back with the bill in the next 10 years, that would be _fantastique_ ," she grumbled, to which Georgia craned an eyebrow.

"What's got you in such hurry?" Georgia asked dryly.

"Today's the Exchange," Burgundy answered, as if it were obvious.

"The _what_?"

"The Exchange," Burgundy repeated. "Every month, the PCA offers its students the chance to transfer their Pokémon between campuses for a blind evaluation—" She stopped and, seeing Georgia's blank stare, clarified, "—that is, an evaluation without the trainer—and there are people saying that one of the S-Class cohorts at the Striaton are participating this time, so I want in on it."

Georgia appeared oddly skeptical. She folded her arms on the table and asked, "So, how many of your Pokémon are you sending?"

"All of them," Burgundy answered seriously. Georgia let out a disbelieving laugh in response.

"Is it even a guarantee they'll be seen by these S-Class students?" she asked.

"N-No," Burgundy admitted. "I _can_ request they be sent to the Striaton campus but... that's exactly why I have to send all of mine! It'll increase the chances, and if just _one_ of my Pokémon were seen by someone in that cohort..." She briefly trailed off; the dramatic ache in her voice was evident, but Georgia's expression didn't change. Burgundy continued, "They're not fully certified S-Class Connoisseurs _yet_ , but they're still top-notch, and do you know how expensive it can be to get an S-Class evaluation?"

"Beyond what you can afford, I'm sure," Georgia drolled.

" _Oui_ ," Burgundy affirmed shortly. "That's why I've got to try." A pause. "Hey, you know, it's not uncommon for connoisseurs to bring in their friends' Pokémon for the Exchange. Maybe you would like for me to take in Beartic for you, or perhaps Bisharp... ?"

"Ah-ha, _no_ ," Georgia immediately refused. "I am _not_ putting my Pokémon through a machine and shooting them off to a city that's more than 100 miles away. Especially not during these times." Burgundy looked at her incredulously.

"'These times'?" she repeated as if offended. "You know, I've done this before. They'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Georgia opened her mouth to reply, but there was a hitch in her voice, a hesitation, before she said, "Well, I'm not going to be here tomorrow afternoon."

"Why not?" Burgundy demanded, both confused and irritated. Georgia initially remained silent however, thickening the air between them, causing the frustrated features in Burgundy's expression to fade. She realized there was something serious on Georgia's mind, and she inclined her head toward her friend, imploring that she give the answer.

Burgundy didn't know what to expect—but it certainly wasn't Georgia discreetly raising her index fingers into the shape of a T with three beats against her nail. Burgundy's breath caught.

"... Are you serious?" she managed after a moment.

"Completely." Georgia dropped her hands again. She didn't want anyone else in the restaurant to see.

"Is that why you wanted to have breakfast with me today?" Burgundy asked quietly. "So you could say goodbye?"

"No, actually," Georgia answered in a matter-of-fact manner. "I wanted breakfast so I could ask you to come with me."

Burgundy's somber disposition evaporated instantly, and she looked incredulous again. "Y-You want me to join the—" She was pointing to herself, but she wouldn't finish that sentence; she wouldn't say the words aloud.

"Yes," Georgia said bluntly.

Burgundy was so nonplussed she didn't notice the waitress finally returning to their table to drop of the check. She jolted upon seeing her, and the waitress merely smiled and asked if there was anything else she could do for either of them. Burgundy couldn't answer, so Georgia dismissed her with an assurance that they were fine, and the waitress left with thanks for their patronage. It was then that Burgundy managed to snap out of her bewilderment, and she leaned closer to Georgia, hissing, "You've completely lost your mind."

"Oh, yeah, I'm the crazy one," Georgia snapped in an equally low voice. "At least I'm not in denial." Burgundy was visibly taken aback—and insulted—by the accusation.

"I'm not in—I'm just—" Burgundy quickly faltered seeing Georgia's deadpan expression, and suddenly, she realized Georgia really _was_ serious not only about leaving, but about her coming. Burgundy swallowed as the proposition sunk into her, and a knot formed in her stomach. Georgia's gaze demanded an answer though, and Burgundy inhaled shakily before answering, "I'm... I'm so close to my A-rank. Classes have been going really well this semester, and things are just... good right now." She shook her head conclusively. "I don't want to leave it."

Georgia's expression shaded with both disappointment and disapproval.

"Burgundy, none of that is going to matter in a month," she persisted. "It might not even matter tomorrow."

"You're springing a lot on me all at once," Burgundy quickly retorted.

"Sorry," Georgia shot back sharply. "Would you have rather I never asked? That I just left?" She snapped up her bag and slapped some money on the table before rising to her feet. "I've already made up my mind. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Let me know if you're coming or not before then."

She stomped away, and Burgundy opened her mouth to call out to her, but the words were stuck in her throat. Georgia was gone, and Burgundy slumped into her seat, staring ruefully at nothing in particular. Guilt seeped into her conscience, and she began to second-guess herself; maybe she hadn't given Georgia's proposal enough consideration, but then again, Georgia hadn't given her much time to consider it...

Burgundy reached into her purse, deciding to call Georgia and apologize. Yet, her Twitter—the last app she had used—immediately popped up on her screen and refreshed the feed. A tweet from The Unovan Tribune appeared at the top: "2 women found dead with evidence of sexual assault outside Driftveil."

Burgundy couldn't bear to click on the link. She set the phone face-down on her table.

* * *

"Here we are!" Cilan flourished, gesturing toward a large, whitestone building, the Neoclassical architecture of which caused it to stand out among the far more modern Nimbasa City. Iris, who was several paces behind, didn't stop to take in the sight quite like Cilan would've hoped, but the twitch in her eyebrows suggested she was at least impressed with the enormity.

"It's nice," she acknowledged evenly. And it was: Even though the construction sharply contrasted that of the rest of the city, it would be too much to say it was "misplaced"; it was a genuinely nice building, and Iris might have been more excited if she cared at all about the aesthetics of buildings, like how Cilan apparently did. Cilan smiled at her once they met again and started to head up the long, stony steps with her in tow.

"I've never brought you to one of the PCA campuses, have I?" he asked, casting her a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Nope." Iris shook his head.

"Well, it's really something else," Cilan went on, passing by the row of Ionic columns. "I should give you a tour."

"Aw, I'd love to, but..." Iris started, her voice becoming thick with sarcasm, as they reached the top of the stairs and he held open one of the glass-pane doors for her. "Well, while I obviously have nothing important to do, I couldn't _possibly_ keep you from the Truth Seekers." Cilan immediately tensed up at the public mention of the group.

"Not so loud," he hushed her, his eyes shifting toward a group of other students heading inside. "Point taken, though."

The interior was even more elaborately decorated than outside. Here, Iris stopped, her breath catching as her eyes rose toward the fresco on the high ceiling. It was a fantastic scene depicting what Iris guessed was the end of the Great Unovan War. She could immediately identify Reshiram and Zekrom with artistic renditions of the Hero of Truth and Hero of Ideals, yet it was what stood central to the painting that captured her attention. It was the Aboriginal Dragon, but its form was crumbling in the division of its soul, leaving behind the yellow-eyed shell of its former self: Kyurem.

"It's splendid, isn't it?" Cilan prodded after a moment. "There's such a beautiful sense of antiquity in it. The austere colors and linear design really emphasize the gravity of the moment."

"Yeah," Iris agreed, nodding. It was an underwhelming response, but there was sincerity in her tone.

"It's a little more than 260 years old," Cilan added. "It's as old as the building, which is older than modern Unova itself."

"I didn't realize the PCA had been around that long," Iris admitted.

"Well, it's complicated," Cilan conceded. "The profession originated in the _Union de Pokémon Sommeliers_ , which was founded in Kalos in 1907, but the Unovan charter—the Pokémon Connoisseur Association—wasn't established until 1954. This building was previously the Vero Albinus College of Pokémon Anthrozoology as part of Nimbasa University, the fifth-oldest university in Unova, but it's now home to the PCA's Nimbasa campus." He paused before appending, "Nimbasa University was the PCA's first partnering institution."

"Fascinating," Iris said flatly, moving forward. He had lost her interest long ago, and Cilan let out a flustered chuckle, realizing he had rambled. He caught up with Iris and led her toward the elevators. Cilan pressed the button to head up and waited alongside her. Only one person—a pale, red-haired male in a gray jacket—was inside when the doors slid open, and he brusquely moved past Cilan and Iris, accidentally bumping into her shoulder as he did.

"Oh, sorry," Iris said upon the collision, but he only gave her a strangely cold look before moving on. She raised an eyebrow and exchanged a quick, vexed glance with Cilan before shrugging it off and stepping into the elevator with him.

"So what's so great about this—" Iris started, wanting to move on from the incident, but she stopped short, grasping for the name.

"—Gerard Poltiere," Cilan provided it as he pressed the button to the sixth floor.

"Yeah. What's so great about this Gerard Poltiere anyway?" she asked him. "Why did you want to see him so much?"

"Well..." Cilan began, standing back as the elevator began to ascend, "... aside from being the president of the PCA, he's an absolutely brilliant mind in the profession." He's hesitated before adding, "He's been a sort of mentor to me—taught me everything I know."

"Including how to be annoying?" Iris teased.

"That was already a part of the package, I'm afraid," Cilan played along with a smile.

The doors opened again. Cilan stepped forward and took a left, gesturing for Iris to follow. A set of white-framed double doors were at the end of the hallway, and when Cilan pushed them open, Iris found herself meeting an aging, round-faced receptionist typing away at her computer.

"Good morning, Cilan." She beamed upon seeing him. Cilan had evidently been there a number of times.

"Morning, Mrs. Dean," Cilan greeted, equally pleasant.

"I'm presuming you're here to speak with Mr. Poltiere?" she asked. Her eyes started to drift behind him, now noticing Iris. There was a trace of mistrust in her gaze; Iris quickly felt the underlying message that she didn't belong there and unconsciously retreated behind Cilan as a result.

"I am, if he's available." Cilan nodded. Noticing Mrs. Dean's wary stare, he clarified, "She's with me." Mrs. Dean's gaze fell away from Iris at this remark.

"Ah. Go right inside." She gestured toward the door on her right. "He's still in his office."

"Thank you." Cilan nodded to her before gently pulling Iris along. He carefully turned the handle and peered inside, before swinging the door fully open and ushering Iris in with him. A pair of wisened dark eyes rose over a pair of gold-colored spectacles and lit up at the sight of who had come to visit.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise." Gerard Poltiere stood with a wrinkled, courtly smile and rounded his oak desk to greet Cilan. Iris side-stepped away from the two men, giving them full access to each other.

"I'm sorry to drop in on you so suddenly, sir," Cilan apologized.

"Nonsense, you're always welcome," Poltiere dismissed. His eyes turned toward Iris next with a gaze reminiscent of his own receptionist's. "And who might this be?"

"Ah, this is Iris," Cilan introduced, reaching out and lightly touching the back of her shoulder. "She and I are traveling together."

Iris would have rather not been acknowledged. In fact, she was half-wondering why she hadn't asked Cilan if she could stay on the first floor while he went to talk to the president. (Of course, she knew it was because he would spend hours chatting if she wasn't there to tap his watch). Still, she moved forward under Cilan's gentle persuasion to meet Poltiere's extended hand. "Hi," she said, shaking it.

Poltiere flicked his gaze back and forth between the two trainers, apparently attempting to gain a read on the nature of their relationship.

"I see. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Iris." Poltiere drew away. "Are you two here for the Exchange?"

"No, actually," Cilan corrected. "I just came to visit you."

"Well, I'm on my way downstairs to it." Poltiere retrieved his suit jacket, and this abruptly struck Iris as funny, and she almost laughed: It was one of the most pompous things she had ever seen, wearing a thick, stuffy suit jacket when summer was upon them, though she supposed she would have expected nothing less of the President for the PCA. She managed to hold her tongue though, and Poltiere gestured toward them, saying, "Come, walk with me," as he headed out the door.

Iris fell behind as they returned to the elevators, managing to keep a slight distance between her and Poltiere and Cilan as they descended a couple floors. Poltiere struck up a conversation with Cilan, asking how his brothers were doing, and Iris's attention faded.

The doors opened, and they began to proceed down another hallway, this hosting a bright red, velvet rug that extended the full length of the room. A row of ceiling-high, white-pane windows with curtains to match were also a part of the grandiose interior design, and it reminded Iris of the stately academy she attended in Opelucid as a child, except twice as pretentious.

A row of various marble busts lined the rug, between every beam of light falling from the windows. Iris meandered toward them, furthering the separation between herself and the others, to inspect them. The first bust, according to the gold plaque below it, depicted Degory Nimbasa, the first president of the local university for which it and the city was named. The second Iris found featured Vero Albinus, the "Solarian explorer who discovered Unova." She frowned and moved on.

"So, have you signed up for your classes next semester?" Poltiere inquired of Cilan, transitioning into a new topic. "I imagine you're well on your way to earning your S-Class certification."

"Ah, I—" Cilan hesitated. "I-I haven't looked at the course catalogue yet, actually."

"Why's that?" Poltiere raised an eyebrow, but there was an anticipative glint in his eyes that suggested he already knew the answer.

"I was planning on doing so when I returned to Striaton City, but..." Cilan began tentatively, but he floundered, wondering how to approach his confession.

"But you're joining the Truth Seekers," Poltiere finished for him, catching Cilan by surprise. "You've come for closure."

"... How did you know?" Cilan asked, confounded—for more reasons than one. It was shocking enough that Poltiere had managed to so quickly identify the reason for Cilan's visitation, but for him to so brazenly name the group aloud was entirely different, even if they were alone in the hallway. He could expect Iris to be bold, but not his amenable mentor.

"Enrollment is dropping in the PCA," Poltiere said plainly. "It's not difficult to guess why. Are Cress and Chili leaving as well?"

"I... haven't brought it up to them yet," Cilan admitted, "so nothing is truly definite."

"Well, I certainly hope they talk you out of it."

"Excuse me?" Cilan was as taken as aback as before, but Poltiere didn't elaborate. Instead, he turned an eye toward the lingering Iris, who was still exploring the row of busts. Cilan pressed his lips into a hard line and looked toward her, too, uncertain what was on the president's mind.

"I must say, she's not the type of girl I would have imagined for you," Poltiere mused after a moment. "A bit on the younger side, wouldn't you think?" Cilan was initially startled at the implication. It hadn't occurred to him that someone might perceive them as a couple, mostly because the three-year age difference was usually enough to ward off romantic presumptions. Cilan might have wondered more deeply about what had given Poltiere that impression if he hadn't grown flustered.

"Oh, it's—" Cilan laughed nervously. "It's nothing like that. Iris and I have been friends for a long time. And, she might not look it, but she's actually 17."

"Ah. My apologies." Poltiere faced Cilan again. "Is she joining the Truth Seekers with you?"

"No." Cilan shook his head before glancing at her again. "Iris kind of marches to her own—" Iris nearly knocked over a bust of Théophile Blanc, a famous Kalosian S-Class, and Cilan winced. "—beat."

Poltiere raised a judgmental brow.

"I can see that," he said evenly. Then, as Iris was resetting the bust on its pedestal, he called out to her, "Say, young lady—Iris, was it?"

Iris snapped her head toward him, bewildered and possibly embarrassed at having been seen. She shuffled away from the head of Blanc and affirmed, "That's me."

"Come over here." He gestured toward her. Iris stood, unmoved, for a moment; she had half-convinced herself Poltiere was about to chastise her like a child, and her gaze moved toward Cilan, looking for a signal. The unsurety of his expression did nothing to reassure her, and she let out a short breath before finally going ahead to meet the two men.

"It's my understanding you're not joining the Truth Seekers with Cilan here," Poltiere said, gesturing toward the younger connoisseur. This immediately drew a frustrated, disbelieving look out of Iris, directed at Cilan, who flinched in response. He knew how it must have appeared to her: That he was trying to use Poltiere to somehow sway her into joining with him.

"That's... true..." Iris said cautiously.

"Why is that?" Poltiere asked.

"I have my reasons, but I don't have to justify them to a stranger," Iris boldly replied. By then, Cilan was regretting having come into the city, but Poltiere only laughed, which managed to surprise both of the youth.

"Well, you certainly have a voltaic effect," Poltiere commended. "There's no need to be sharp with me, though. I agree with you."

Iris stared.

"What?" she eventually asked, perturbed.

"Sir—" Cilan implored Poltiere, wanting him to drop the issue, but Poltiere cut him off again.

"We are of the same opinion: Joining the Truth Seekers would be a mistake," he avowed, but Iris remained wary.

"You don't like them either?" she inquired. She was admittedly interested in what he had to say; she had never met a person outside the Village of Dragons with an expressed distaste for the Truth Seekers. Poltiere nodded to her slowly before looking toward one of the windows.

"The war is constructed," he said, and Iris drew back; Cilan appeared equally uneasy. Poltiere continued, "It sells the papers, garners higher ratings, gives you more column inches. The Truth Seekers are engaged in a misguided effort. They're responding to a breed of radicalism that has no ground on which to stand. The media has glorified the power of the radicals, though, and therefore romanticized the efforts of the Truth Seekers."

Iris was thoroughly unimpressed.

"You think Team Plasma isn't a threat?" she asked; there was a sharp, grated edge in her tone.

"I think their idealism is so ludicrous that their 'activism' will ultimately go nowhere," Poltiere candidly answered. Iris's gaze narrowed with bitter contempt, and her jaw clenched. Cilan held his breath while he inwardly groped for a resolution.

"We do not have the same opinion," she spat. She jerked her head toward Cilan. "I need to go. I'll meet you outside." She spun on her heel and stalked back toward the elevators.

"Iris!" Cilan called out to her worriedly, but she disappeared the through the doors. He sucked in his breath, then addressed Poltiere again, saying, "I'm sorry, she—"

"—marches to her own beat," Poltiere finished with a curt nod.

* * *

Burgundy was resisting the urge—rather, the bad habit—to chew on the end of her pen as she filled out the last of the four transfer forms she had acquired for the Exchange. The technician working the Pokémon Transfer machine had been surprised when Burgundy requested that many forms—two was fairly typical, and there were some who did three—but she was insistent. The tech was eventually willing to oblige but warned Burgundy sending so many would have her busy all day.

There was the catch: For every Pokémon she sent, she would need to perform a blind evaluation on someone else's Pokémon. Not that she terribly minded. It was good practice, albeit difficult. The lower-ranking connoisseurs often received help from older ones, but Burgundy had always been too prideful to accept any offers.

Burgundy's eyes drifted away from her form, toward the counter again. She had found she was having trouble keeping focused; her mind kept slipping back to Georgia and her offer, and Burgundy knew if she finished her forms and sent her Pokémon away, she'd be finalizing her decision. Once she was locked into the Exchange, she would be fixed to Nimbasa City until her Pokémon were sent back, and Georgia was leaving for Castelia in the morning.

Burgundy signed her name at the bottom of the form and stood up.

"All ready?" the technician inquired when she reached the counter.

"Yes." Burgundy laid all four forms on the counter and reached into her bag to pull out all four of her Pokéballs: one for Samurott, one for Sawsbuck, one for Stoutland, and one for Darmanitan.

"All right." The tech nodded, taking her Pokémon. He checked off all of her forms and circled the unique number at the top of every right-hand corner. He then peeled four white, circular stickers from a roll, stuck them onto the red head of each Pokéball, and copied down the corresponding number onto the sticker in permanent marker. He copied the same numbers onto four square cards and handed them to Burgundy, saying, "Make sure you hold onto these. You'll need your trainer card and your Pokémon's numbers to pick them up."

"Of course," Burgundy said quickly. "I've done this before."

He said nothing in response to this. Instead, he took all four of her Pokémon, slid open the transparent shelf on the Pokémon transfer, and laid the first Pokéball into the designated circular pit. He closed the shelf again and started entering a string of numbers—Burgundy realized it was the code for the Opelucid campus **—** using the key pad.

"W-Wait," Burgundy called out to him before he could go any further. "Could I ask they all be sent to the Striaton campus?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, raised a questioning eyebrow, but shrugged it off.

"I suppose," he said. He cleared the Opelucid code, entered the one for Striaton, and pressed send. The Pokéball inside the shelf immaterialized and disappeared. Burgundy eagerly watched this process repeat itself four times until all of her Pokémon were sent, and she fell back with a smile.

The technician turned to direct her down the hallway to where she would perform her blind evaluations, but a sudden, upstairs blast that shook the whole floor and left Burgundy's ears ringing overpowered his words. The fire alarm blared immediately afterward and was accompanied by several panicked screams.

"W-What was that?" Burgundy stammered, clinging to the edge of the counter after nearly losing her balance. She naïvely added, "A fire drill during the Exchange?"

"This is no drill," the technician said seriously, coming out from behind the counter. "We would have known about it in advance."

* * *

Iris's mind was still reeling.

She had been seething on the way back down the elevator, incensed for a number of reasons: Poltiere's ignorance, the suspension of travel, the loss of her own temper, the stupid row of busts, but above all, that Cilan had idly stood by through the entire ordeal. There was a fraction of her—a more reasonable half—that told her she was being irrational, that she wasn't being fair to Cilan. He had been placed into a difficult situation and was himself patronized by his own mentor; even so, Iris wasn't quite willing to let go of her anger yet.

Until she heard the blast.

She had just stepped out of the elevator on the first floor when the explosion—if that was what it was—shook the building. With a sharp breath, she stumbled toward the wall and threw her head toward the ceiling, wondering what had happened. The fire alarm went off.

Chaos among those in the lobby ensued. A tour group dispersed, employees left their posts, and students on their way to class were now headed straight for the doors. The hysteria affected Iris, too, but instead of running toward the exit like everyone else, like how she was supposed to do, her terror rose in her throat in the form of a name: "Cilan!"

He was still upstairs. She had no idea what had happened, but it sounded bad, and he was still up there. She sprinted back toward the elevators and fervently pressed one of the buttons to go up, but it wouldn't respond; it had automatically shut off with the fire alarm system. She fell back and drew in a shaky breath, trying to think straight. She needed another option. Stairs.

She could quickly find where they were, because it wasn't long before people from the second floor started coming off them. She pushed against oncoming the crowd with determination, but a pair of hands—stranger's hands—grabbed her shoulders, stopping her ascent before she could reach the third step. He was an older male, a professor probably.

"Are you out of your mind, young lady?" he chastised her. "The exit is in the other way!"

"There could be people or Pokémon in trouble up there," Iris retorted, pushing his hands off her.

"The firemen and rescue team will get them," he persisted, and he pressed her forward. Iris resigned to her more reasonable senses and went along with him, but then there was a voice—a real voice, she was certain—crying for help. She tried to turn again and head toward it, but she was pushed back once more and swept into the mob headed toward the exit.

* * *

By the time Burgundy had made it the stairwell, she could smell the smoke. It was from a higher floor, she was certain, but the scent was there, and it confirmed a terrible reality: Whatever had happened, it had caused the building to catch fire.

The noxious fumes became less pronounced the further she descended however, and there was massive sense of relief when she reached the first floor and saw the entrance doors; she would be okay. The clutch of anxiety loosened when she made it outside and was able to breathe her own air again; there were only two stairwells, and the one she had taken, at least, had been packed.

Once she made it past the columns and to the bottom of the outdoor steps, she turned her head to see the flames and black plume of smoke emerging from the fifth floor. It was the floor above her; she knew some of the classrooms there were being used for blind evaluations, and it chilled her to think if she had finished her forms earlier, she could have been sent to one of those rooms.

"Burgundy!" Burgundy was spun suddenly into a tight embrace. She was bewildered by the gesture, and it wasn't until her company pulled back and cupped her face that she saw it was Georgia. "Are you okay?! Oh Arceus, I'm glad you're out."

Burgundy remained dazed for a moment, confused why she was there, but was eventually able to regather herself and reply.

"I'm fine," she answered, her hands falling upon Georgia's. "How'd you know?" Her mind was still so jumbled that she couldn't word herself in quite the right way, but Georgia seemed to understand anyway.

"I saw it all over my Twitter feed," she said, pulling back. Her eyes then moved past Burgundy, to something that was behind her. "I saw— _that_ —all over my Twitter feed."

Burgundy wasn't entirely clear on what Georgia meant until she turned around and saw what her friend was pointing at. Her breath caught. On the front of the building, in bright blue paint dripping from a hasty job, read the statement, "LIBERATION FOR ALL POKÉMON." It was punctuated by a distinct lightening bolt.

"How did anyone even—" Burgundy began breathlessly. "How did no one see them?"

Her question went unanswered, as one brunette from the crowd sprung forward and yelled back to the masses, "If any one of you has a Water-type Pokémon, come help until the fire department arrives!" She enlarged the Pokéball in her hand and called out a Samurott before breaking toward the flames with several other trainers in tow.

"You—" Georgia started, jerking her head toward Burgundy. "You have a Samurott, too; go help." Burgundy sucked in her breath upon his order though, feeling her stomach knot.

"N-Not anymore," she said, her voice wavering. "I sent him to Striaton City." Georgia pressed her lips into a hard line and looked at Burgundy with a stiff, disappointed expression, and Burgundy felt her heart fall.

"Hey!" Georgia pricked up when a hand fell upon her shoulder and she turned to see, much to her shock, Iris behind her. "What's going on?"

Georgia stared at her blankly for a moment before letting out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, saying, "Well, I guess it's a small world after all."

"You didn't answer my question," Iris snapped, annoyed Georgia was _laughing_ now of all times.

"A fire, obviously," Burgundy broke in. She was grasping for her usual brusque disposition, but she was clearly still shaken.

"A terrorist attack," Georgia said more bluntly. She was willing to be straightforward, to explicitly name what it was, and it rattled both Iris and Burgundy. Seeing or reading about such attacks in the news was one thing; experiencing it yourself was another entirely, and the moment became scarily surreal.

Iris, recovering, wetted her lips and asked, "Is the rescue team here yet?"

"The firefighters aren't even here yet," Georgia replied shortly, which bothered Iris even further.

"Have you seen Cilan?" she pressed. The edge of desperation in her voice was growing, but she hadn't lost her cool yet.

" _He's_ here?" Burgundy asked incredulously, though she was unable to work up any sense of disgust or displeasure in her tone.

"He was on the fourth floor," Iris said. Her concern was rapidly becoming more evident.

"I was on the fourth floor, so he's probably around here somewhere," Burgundy assured her. Iris remained unsatisfied by this response. She sucked in her breath and whipped her head back toward the building, and the bright blue words proclaiming liberation seared themselves into her mind.

 _Help me... Help me..._

The voice Iris had heard inside returned, and she clutched her head as if it were aching. She had heard its echo multiple times since leaving the building, and she had tried convincing herself she was so consumed with worry that she had invented it herself. Yet, this time, she was able to sort out the language in her mind, and she realized it _was_ real.

"You okay there?" Georgia asked, looking both alarmed and disturbed. Iris didn't answer. She lifted her eyes to the building and, without warning, took off toward the entrance.

"Wait!" Georgia called after her. " _Wait_ , where are you going?!"

* * *

They were some of the last to reach the first floor, Cilan was sure. The thickening, ruinous air had Poltiere coughing as they headed down the last few steps, with Cilan supporting him nearly all the way. Poltiere's age had showed itself plainly during their descent; he was an older fellow, and while he was in relatively good health, tackling several flights of stairs required far more effort now than it did when he was twenty years younger.

Outside, Cilan let Poltiere pause to gasp in the fresher air. The younger connoisseur, his hand supporting his mentor's shoulder, leaned closer to Poltiere and worriedly asked, "Are you okay sir?"

Poltiere didn't respond. He rubbed his eyes—which were red, irritated by the smoke—and glanced back at the building behind him. In horror, he read the warring message spraypainted on the front and breathed, "What—What is this?"

Cilan looked, too, and felt himself briefly go rigid with fear—a kind of fear that preyed upon the securities that once comfortably resided inside his own mind, securities which ensured unappreciated luxuries like normalcy, routine, and familiarity. They were stripped of him in that instant, and if he didn't believe his life would be normal again before, he certainly didn't believe it then.

The firemen and Pokémon Rescue Team had arrived. They hurried past Cilan and Poltiere, into the furnace.

"W-We should step away from the building," Cilan suggested with a slight stammer, pulling Poltiere down the steps with him. Poltiere had nothing to say; he was distraught by then, his sense of normality having been shattered, too. Cilan turned his head and scanned the crowd, his thoughts swinging toward his next source of dread. He perked up when he saw several familiar faces among the throng of students and professors and horrified bystanders, and he left Poltiere's side to see them.

"Georgia, Burgundy!" he anxiously greeted them. "Have you seen Iris?"

" _There_ you are." Burgundy, strangely, sounded half-relieved to see him, but quickly answered, "Yeah, we saw her."

"Oh, thank goodn—" Relief began to settle within Cilan, until Burgundy cut him off.

"—She ran back inside," she added.

"She _what_?!" Cilan blanched.

"She headed back inside," Burgundy repeated. Panic seized her for a moment, seeing the color drain from his face. It was an expression she wouldn't forget for a while, to see Cilan, normally so calm and collected, look so utterly terrified.

"Oh Mew," he breathed, looking back toward the building. His steps started slow, steady, but his uncertain pace eventually increased to a run, and he was headed back up the steps.

"What?! Not you, too—" Georgia tried to yell after him, but he had already disappeared. She fell back, shaking her head incredulously before exclaiming in exasperation, "Arceus, he's no better than Iris!"

Cilan coughed immediately upon re-entering the lobby, and he pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to suppress it. His more logical senses were screaming that this was a wildly irresponsible charge, but he couldn't bear the thought of letting Iris go alone at whatever madcap mission she had assigned herself, so he suppressed those senses, too, before bolting for the stairs—the set he and Poltiere hadn't taken.

He called for her several times, and about midway up the second flight, he heard a set of light feet above. The hope that it was Iris possessed him, and he stopped with a protective hand cupped over his mouth and waited. Yet, what passed him was quick-footed Vaporeon, and on her tail was one of the men from the Pokémon Rescue Team, carrying an injured Patrat.

"Hey, you're not—" the rescuer started, but he stopped short when he realized he knew the stairdweller. "Cilan?!"

"Virgil!" Cilan exclaimed. It had taken a moment to identify him under the heavy gear, but Cilan was certain: This was definitely Virgil, one of his and Iris's and Ash's acquaintances from when they traveled together five years earlier.

"Cilan, you're not properly equipped to handle this situation," Virgil reproved him, not out of spite, but serious concern. "It's dangerous. You need to leave."

"Virgil, Iris is in here," Cilan desperately appealed to him.

"Iris is—" He stopped and pressed his lips together, thinking—but only for a moment. "Okay. You take this Patrat and get out. I'll go find her."

"Virgil—" Cilan remained uncertain as the Patrat was passed onto him, but Virgil wouldn't relent.

"—Go!" he ordered. "I'll take care of it." He whistled for Vaporeon and, together, they ran back up the stairs. Cilan let out a shaky breath before turning and heading back down.

* * *

 _Help me... Help me..._

Iris had left the stairwell and was on her hands and knees, crawling toward the voice she was now certain was calling for her. She had first checked the fourth floor, calling for Cilan several times, but seeing as he wasn't there though, she ditched those efforts with the prayer he made it out and went up a level. The fifth floor was the site of the blast, and it was there that the voice cried out to her.

Yet, it was also there that she found the fire and could feel its dire heat; her vision had blurred several times from its effects, and she had ardently rubbed at her eyes a number of times. Her throat and chest were burning, too, and she had pulled the collar of her shirt up to her mouth, trying to filter out the smoke in the air she breathed.

The voice, once a distant, faint cry, was now much louder and much more desperate. Iris knew she was close. One of the classroom doors was cracked open, and Iris sidled up to it, pressing it further open. She could hear him clearly; he had to be in there.

The room appeared empty. There were multiple tables set up with numbers and clipboards and pens, and Iris guessed students were doing evaluations there before fleeing. One of the white tablecloths near the right end of of the room had caught fire and spread to other tables; the flames had grown so tall in some places that they licked the ceiling. Iris swallowed all her apprehension and proceeded forward, still crawling.

 _Help me... Help us..._

"I'm here!" Iris yelled out. "Where are you?!"

Her mouth was dry, and it hurt to speak. Strangely, it was then that Iris remembered a poem—she didn't know where she had heard it or why she had even heard it; she never read poetry on her own—but it was a poem, written by a Unovan author, about the end of the world. The world would be consumed by fire or frozen by ice, and though death was inevitable in both conditions, the question remained: Which would be the better death? Iris couldn't recall any of the exact words, but the author, at least, said fire was his preference. She remembered it now because she had been on the brink of an icy tomb before and was moving toward a fiery one, and she honestly couldn't choose which would be the better way to go.

A whine drew her attention to one of the tables. She scrambled forward and pushed up the white cloth, revealing a Deino—the owner of the voice she had heard—and a Vullaby cowering together.

"There you are," Iris said, relieved. She extended an arm to them, saying, "Come on—I'm here to save you."

A crackle. A portion of the ceiling collapsed, bringing one of the fluorescent lights down with it, and Iris yelped as her left leg was trapped beneath it. She turned and tried to push the debris off her while simultaneously trying to pull her leg out. The rubble shifted slightly, but her hand slipped and she cut her palm on sharp fragments from the light. Iris hissed in pain, and Deino and Vullaby cried worriedly before rushing forward to help push the detritus away.

A click. One of Iris's Pokéballs opened on its own, and Noivern rose to his full stature in a white glow. The light faded, and he looked down upon his trainer with valorous eyes, causing Iris's breath to catch. He thrust his snout into a pocket of space below the fallen ceiling and threw it off his trainer, freeing her. He then extended his wings to their full length and roared as a ring of water emerged from near his feet and burst forward, dousing some of the flames that had started to block their escape.

"Water Pulse," Iris breathed. She had no idea he was capable of such a move. Noivern looked down at her again, and Iris raised a hand to his cheek. "Good boy."

Iris then whipped her head toward the door. Someone was calling her name.

* * *

Cilan was nursing the Patrat by himself on the curb, keeping one of the available oxygen masks gently pressed over the Normal-type's mouth. Yet, he would consistently cast anxious glances over his shoulder, back toward the PCA building. The fire department seemed to have finally gained some control over the flames, yet Cilan had seen neither Virgil nor Iris since leaving the forge himself. He was desperately trying not to think the worst, but he was so overwrought with distress that he worried might grow sick there on the curb.

"You're an idiot."

Cilan snapped his head forward again to see Burgundy and Georgia; Burgundy has been the one to speak, and she was panting aloud her own torments.

"Have you seen Iris?" he asked, having nothing to say in defense of himself. Her insult wasn't unwarranted. What he had done was undeniably foolish.

"No," Georgia answered, shaking her head. Cilan bit his bottom lip.

"One of rescuers is looking for her," he said as though he were trying to reassure himself. Georgia frowned and looked toward the building again. Something there caught her attention, and she perked up with a quick breath.

"You mean that one?" she said, pointing. Cilan jerked his head back, and sure enough, there was Iris and Virgil heading down the steps with a Deino and Vullaby, respectively, in their arms. Another worker from the rescue team came by and took the Pokémon away for medical treatment, and Virgil followed him.

"Iris!" Cilan scrambled to his feet. An acute relief fell upon his expression; Iris, by contrast, appeared confused upon hearing her name, but even more so when she found herself briefly being suffocated by Cilan. "Oh, thank goodness you're alive," he said. He quickly pulled back, pushing a long, perspirated lock of her hair out of her face before demanding, "What were you thinking?!"

The look of shock in her face changed to relief, too, with needed time to process. Her lips twitched into a smile that grew into an elated laugh, happy he was okay.

"I heard that Deino crying for help," she replied, her voice a little raspy. Yet, she seemed to have lost half of Cilan's attention; he had pulled further back, looking her over. "I had to go get him. I'm fine, though." Something about Cilan's face showed he disagreed. He drew in a sharp breath and wrapped an arm around her upper frame.

"Iris, you need to sit down over here," he said seriously, trying to guide her toward the curb. Iris gave him an odd look.

"I'm fine, Cilan, really," she insisted, though he still forced her to sit down. He retrieved an oxygen mask connected to one of the nearby tanks and pulled it over her head, but Iris immediately pushed it down off her mouth so she could continue to speak. "Cilan—"

"Burgundy, go find a paramedic," Cilan ordered, turning his head toward her. The connoisseuse nodded with wide eyes and hurried off.

"Cilan, I'm—" Iris started again, annoyed, but Cilan cut her off.

"—Iris." His hands fell to her shoulders, his gaze dead-locked onto hers. The look in his eyes told her something was wrong, but Iris didn't know what—until Georgia spoke.

"Arceus, what happened to your leg?" she asked, aghast. Iris blinked and, for the first time, looked down at herself. What had everyone in such a frenzy, she figured, was the fact her left leg was raw, blistered, a bright red where she was bleeding, and a ghostly white where her skin was falling off. The ceiling, she had forgotten, had actually been on fire when it fell on her.

The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins and feeding her courage abruptly cut. With it no longer there to obscure the reality of her injury, an excruciating pain scorched her nerves, taking its revenge upon her rash heroism, and Cilan crying out her name was the last thing she heard.

* * *

The first sensations Iris felt were those in her right hand. Before she ever fully opened her eyes, she fisted her hand and felt the rutted edges of the gauze wrapped around it. The cut beneath her bandages wasn't deep, but she could feel its sting; yet, such a minor affliction was the least of her concerns, especially when the pain centralized in her leg shot through her whole body again.

Iris regained the entirety of her consciousness suddenly, as if by electricity. She inhaled sharply and let her uninjured hand fall to her burned leg. Her teeth gritted as she tried to regain control of herself, to adjust to the pain. It was only when Iris managed to stabilize herself that she tried to take in her surroundings: white room, white curtains, heart monitor, IV drip. She was in a hospital.

She lolled and lifted her head to the left and saw Cilan next. He was curled up in one of the chairs, eyes closed, head propped up on one of his hands. He had several of the hospital's complimentary magazines in his lap, indicating they had been there for a while. Iris smirked, letting her head fall back into her pillow.

"I thought you were supposed to have permission to watch a lady sleep," she teased. Cilan's eyes fluttered open, and he raised his gaze toward hers. A small smile fell upon his lips.

"I wasn't watching you," he corrected, straightening himself out. "I was asleep, too."

He pulled his chair away from the wall, moving toward her bedside. His hand fell upon hers, grasping it with a tense consolation, as he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Well, my leg feels great," Iris answered sarcastically.

"You have a second-degree burn. The doctors have been applying a Rawst ointment periodically," Cilan informed her. A pause. "It's fast-acting. You should be completely healed in as few as ten days."

Iris frowned. Ten days might as well have been ten years.

"What happened?" she asked, prompting a strange expression to briefly cross Cilan's face.

"You ran into a burning building to save a Deino," he reminded her.

"I remember that part; I don't remember how I got here," Iris clarified.

"You passed out," Cilan told her simply, now understanding. Iris frowned again. The memory was returning, slowly but surely: Cilan hurrying her to the curb, Burgundy rushing off for medical help, Georgia's horror-struck inquiry... the sight of her own, burned flesh...

"In front of Georgia?" Iris groaned. "That's embarrassing."

"She was worried. We all were," Cilan tried assuring her as if it would make her feel better, but Iris shook his words off. She wanted to move on. She felt uncomfortable enough drawing Cilan's sympathies. It was worse thinking _Georgia_ and _Burgundy_ offered theirs, too.

"What about you?" she asked him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Cilan nodded. "Poltiere and I were on the floor below the blast. It took us a while to get out, because I was helping him. He's okay, too, though."

"I don't care about him," Iris said with evident distaste. "I only care about you."

A pregnant pause followed. Cilan lowered his head, his lips pursed; perhaps he was touched, but Iris wouldn't have been able to tell from his unreadable expression. Yet, he weakly patted Iris's hand before looking up at her again and saying gently, though firmly, "What you did was incredibly reckless."

Iris nearly rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry that I embarrassed you in front of your mentor," she said dryly. "But it's worse, I think, _denying_ there's a problem."

"I don't mean that; you're justified in being upset with Poltiere," Cilan said tacitly, which caught Iris by surprise. She didn't think he would even implicitly acknowledge Poltiere as wrong. Iris suddenly surrendered some of the fragments of anger she hadn't realized she was still holding. Cilan continued, "I meant you going into the burning building."

"I knew what you meant," Iris said flatly, quietly. Yet, she added with a spark of personality, "You know, I actually prefer the word 'brave' instead of 'reckless.' It sounds less patronizing."

"You're taking this too lightly, Iris." Cilan's voice rose as he became more exasperated, but it quickly fell again, and he grew softer. "I was... incredibly scared. You are my—" He raised his other hand, the one that wasn't on hers, as if he was trying to physically grasp the right word. "—closest friend. I don't know what I do without you."

Iris felt her chest tighten. She remembered the fear she had felt herself, for him, when she had first heard the explosion and later when she couldn't find him in the crowd. She remembered his face when they reunited, and Iris realized he had been just as afraid as she was.

Iris turned her hand up so she could grasp his, too.

"I'm sorry I scared you. I was scared for you, too, and I'm not sure what I'd do without you either," she admitted. Yet, a hard thought weighed on her with this averment, and she swallowed the lump in her throat before adding, with a hitch, "I guess we're going to have to learn, though, because you're joining the Truth Seekers, and I'm not."

Cilan faltered, his eyes briefly closing as he sighed.

"I suppose so," he agreed.

Iris slipped her hand out of his and extended her arms to him, pulling him in for an embrace. Although he promptly fastened his arms around her in reciprocation, he just as quickly pulled one back to cup the edge of her face so he could kiss her temple. He then securely laid his hand down again on her upper back, closing the space between them once more and letting her rest her face in the crook between her arm and his neck. The contact felt strangely foreign to Iris, even though she had initiated this time: She didn't think she had ever hugged Cilan before that day, and it had, funnily enough, happened twice within a matter of hours. Yet, she—and he, too—especially needed it then with the mutually painful realization that they would inevitably part, and they did not want to.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Iris unraveled her arms from Cilan's neck as they quickly pulled apart. Virgil was standing in the doorway.

"N-No, not at all," Iris said. "Come in."

Virgil smiled weakly, and there remained a modicum of hesitancy in his step as he approached Iris's bedside.

"I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing," he said. "Glad to see you're awake."

"Glad to be awake, I guess." Iris shrugged. "How's that Deino and Vullaby?"

"Doing great," Virgil answered, pleased to at least be able to deliver this scrap of good news. "Their trainers are coming down from Opelucid City to pick them up."

Iris immediately knew there was more. She leaned forward, toward him, cautiously asking, "And the other Pokémon... ?"

It was apparent Virgil had not wanted her to ask, or had hoped Cilan would have already told her. Yet, the connoisseur's gaze averted from both of theirs, making it clear he had said nothing of the matter. So Virgil sucked in his breath.

"Twenty-three Pokémon are unaccounted for," he finally replied. "Seven people are missing, too."

The large number was a despairing blow, and Iris's expression withered with grief. _That_ many missing. Except, they weren't missing, she knew. By then, it was a matter of recovering what had been left behind.

"Those people... those Pokémon..." Iris's voice shook as she spoke. She fell back against her pillow. Suddenly, her heartache grew to anger. "Twenty-three. _Twenty-three_ versus seven. How selfish. How many of those Pokémon were left to burn alive while the people responsible for them got out?"

Cilan was surprised by this bitter question, but quickly became disturbed by her point.

"We saved a lot," Virgil tried to comfort her. "You and Cilan both should be proud."

Iris blinked.

"Cilan?" she inquired.

"He carried out a Patrat," Virgil elaborated. Cilan winced as Iris suddenly turned a disbelieving gaze on him.

"So you'll chastise me for running into a burning building to save a Pokémon, but it's totally fine when you do it?" she questioned him. "That's not hypocritical." Cilan briefly tightened his jaw.

"I went in after you," he firmly defended. "You're different."

"You mean to say you think I'm worth more because I'm human," Iris retorted with a huff, and Cilan remained silent. When she realized he wasn't going to reply, she let a low, incredulous growl emerge from the back of her throat as she jerked her head away.

* * *

The Nimbasa Pokémon Center was a wreck of emotional distress. Even hours after the attack, dozens of Audino were scrambling around the lobby and in and out of doors with trays of food and Potions and other medical necessities; extra Pokémon doctors and nurses from other cities had been called to assist the high volume of patients; there was talk about a shortage of Burn Heal and other treatments; trainers, mostly connoisseurs, were in a frenzy trying to locate their Pokémon, for the transfer machine had presumably been destroyed in the fire, and it was unclear what procedures were in place to regain and return misplaced Pokémon.

Burgundy was among those trainers looking for answers.

Georgia sat alone on a bench in the lobby, watching the chaos before her unfold. She had tried to jump in earlier to help, but quickly learned her lack of medical expertise only meant she was getting in the way, so she pulled back again. Now, instead, she had been half-watching news coverage of the incident through the television mounted on the wall. It had traveled internationally—Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kalos, Solaria, Orre, everyone, had heard of the tragedy and seen the gruesome images on air and online.

It should have felt unreal that a calamity of this magnitude could happen in Unova. It didn't though, and that was the worst part. The increases in violence across the country had been such that it had not been a question of if, but _when_ something this terrible would happen. The aspect of it that was unreal was that Georgia had been there to witness it.

Burgundy returned, sinking beside Georgia on the bench with a long sigh. Georgia looked at her expectantly, waiting for whatever news she had to share—presumably bad. Yet, Georgia was surprised when Burgundy actually smiled and revealed, "I found out they're all in Striaton City, safe. I was on hold for a while, but I finally managed to talk to someone on the campus there, and they confirmed my Pokémon were received. They're all being moved to the Pokémon Center to be taken care of in the meantime."

"That's a relief," Georgia breathed. "We'll leave to go get them tomorrow."

Burgundy blinked, confused.

"I thought you were off to join the... you know..." she said.

"It can wait," Georgia dismissed with a wave of her hand. "It's not like you can get to Striaton on your own anyway, because you were an idiot and sent all your Pokémon away."

There was a change in Burgundy's expression; a look of utter, genuine appreciation marked her features, and she might have cried if it weren't for the fact Georgia probably would have made fun of her for it. Burgundy's hands curled in her lap.

"I've made a decision," she declared suddenly, causing Georgia to crane an eyebrow. "I want to join the Truth Seekers with you." Burgundy's brief stint of determination faltered, and she hesitated before appending, "But..."

"But what?" Georgia prodded her. Burgundy's bottom lip quivered as she rapidly became overwrought with anxiety; she stood again and spun around to face Georgia.

"How do we expect to get to there? How do we even expect to get to Striaton?" she quickly, almost frantically fired off these questions. "How will we be able to take care of ourselves?"

" _Relax._ Unlike you, I still have all of my Pokémon," Georgia replied, estranged by her sudden, increasing mania. "I can give you my Sylveon to hold onto in the meantime."

"That's not enough." Burgundy shook her head. "Even with our Pokémon, do you realize what could happen? Do you know what could happen to girls like us traveling alone?" She had said too much, and Georgia grew angry, both out of exasperation and a touch of the infectious fear Burgundy harbored.

"Arceus, calm down Burgundy," Georgia snapped. Burgundy clamped her mouth shut, and Georgia drew in an uncharacteristically shaky breath, smoothing out her nerves before continuing, "Look, if you're that scared... When we were at the hospital, I talked to Cilan for a little bit, and he said he and Iris were on their way to Striaton City before all this happened." Burgundy started to look wary, but Georgia pressed on. "Maybe, if you're willing to swallow your pride, they would be all right with letting us tag along."

* * *

"Make sure you apply it over the affected area every eight hours," the doctor instructed, holding out a prescription, Rawst-based ointment toward Iris. "Take over-the-counter painkillers as needed and get plenty of rest."

It was morning again. Nearly a day had passed since the attack on the PCA Nimbasa campus, and Iris was itching to leave. The condition of her leg had improved surprisingly well; the ointment was indeed fast-acting. Still, the doctor had relegated her to a wheelchair for the next step in her recovery process, and it was evident from her expression that she wasn't pleased.

"Got it," Iris said flatly, receiving her prescription. "Thank you."

Cilan could tell she definitely wasn't happy.

He took her out of her room and down the hallway, into one of the elevators. Iris was in such an insufferably bad mood, though, that when the wheelchair jolted as Cilan pushed her through the open elevator doors, she made an audible, irritated noise. As soon as Cilan pressed the button to return to the bottom floor and the doors closed again, Iris abruptly stood up and pushed the wheelchair toward the wall, half-folding it.

"Iris," Cilan chastised.

"What? Not like we can take it with us," she flippantly replied.

"Take it with—" Cilan started incredulously. "Iris, the doctor said you should be resting. We can't travel until you're better."

"Listening to doctors is for squares," Iris threw back at him. The doors opened, and she staggered ahead. Cilan let out a frustrated sigh and followed her.

"You're walking on a limp," he pointed out.

"The limp isn't that bad," she stubbornly retorted.

"Iris—"

"I appreciate the concern," she cut him off, spinning toward him, "but I'm on a tight schedule."

"Where do you need to be so quickly? What are you doing?" Cilan asked, exasperated. It was the first time he had directly asked her to where she was journeying toward, and for what purpose she was journeying toward it, since she had first rebuffed him in the Village of Dragons. Yet, she tightened her lips, and Cilan did the same. He realized he wasn't going to be getting a straight answer any time soon, even before she replied.

"It's not where I need to be, it's who I need to come back to," Iris answered with a solemn strain in her voice. Cilan had no idea whom she meant, but his expression showed he was clearly dissatisfied, prompting Iris to demand, "What? What makes you want to stay here longer? Do you want to see Poltiere again or something?"

"No, I'm—" Cilan realized he was speaking in a tone far too harsh for his own taste. He paused, recollected himself, and started again in a more even voice. "I'm not interested in seeing Poltiere again right now. I'm just worried about you."

His willingness to soften disarmed Iris, and she felt a twinge guilty. She was, admittedly, being difficult, and he had reason for concern. Still...

"I know my limits, Cilan," Iris replied calmly. "We'll take it easy, but I don't want to stop moving."

They were at an impasse. Cilan was watching her, considering her words, but still hesitant to budge on this issue. Iris had glued her feet firmly to the ground, though. Before he could conjure a response, however, the entrance doors to the hospital slid open, and in came a couple of familiar faces.

"Well, look at that," Georgia began wryly, catching sight of Cilan and Iris, "it's just the people we were looking for." Cilan managed to work up a smile and politely greet both her and Burgundy as they met; Iris, on the other hand, remained silent, keeping a wary eye on them.

"How's your leg?" Georgia asked with what sounded like a speck of genuine concern.

"Awesome," Iris answered shortly. "Never been better. I feel like I could walk 100 miles on it." She shot Cilan a quick, pointed glance, and it was hard for him not to look annoyed.

"A simple 'fine' would have sufficed," Georgia grumbled, though she sensed a thick tension between the pair. She was grateful she wouldn't have to address it head-on, though, as she laid a hand on Burgundy's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Well, Burgundy, you're up." Burgundy cast Georgia a disbelieving, irritated look before facing Cilan and Iris again.

"Ah..." Burgundy tentatively started. Under Cilan's and Iris's respective questioning and irked stares, however, she folded and turned to Georgia again, telling her in a low voice, "This is stupid and humiliating, let's go."

"No," Georgia immediately refused, forcing her to turn toward Cilan and Iris again, "because I _know_ if we leave, then you're going to cry again about how scared you are."

"Is there something you need to ask us?" Cilan civilly prodded. Burgundy pursed her lips, but sucked in her breath.

"I heard you're going to Striaton City," she finally said.

"We are." Cilan nodded.

"So are we." Burgundy gestured to both herself and Georgia. "My Pokémon were transferred there yesterday in the Exchange, and I need to get them. So... if we're, you know, headed in the same direction, then maybe we should, I don't know, go together?" She started to speak so fast that her words crashed into each other, but Cilan, at least, seemed to understand. She couldn't look him in the eye; her face was reddening, her pride aching with embarrassment. She quickly added, "For safety, obviously. There's strength in numbers, right? And it would be good to have someone like—" She didn't want to say it. Still, she raised her hand toward him, mumbling, "—you—someone like—your gender—around."

Cilan drew in an inaudible breath, surprised and disturbed by the implications of her words. Iris, who had up until then been unconcerned with their cause, suddenly looked toward Burgundy with wide eyes, realizing just what she was scared of. Burgundy's eyes were turned toward the ground, angry that she had become so vulnerable. Georgia's arms were folded, her weight slung to her left hip, as she watched both Cilan and Iris with stiff anticipation.

"Fine by me," Iris suddenly agreed, but she turned an expectant eye toward Cilan, waiting for his response. He knew what she was doing: She was putting him on the spot, wielding Burgundy and Georgia's predicament to bend him to her will. He resented it, especially because it was working.

He sighed.

"Iris is hurt," Cilan began frankly. "But... I'm all right if you want to travel with us, as long as we keep her wellbeing in mind." Iris appeared vaguely smug. Only Georgia noticed because Burgundy still wouldn't look up.

"Sure," Burgundy mumbled. "That's not... unreasonable."

"Good," Iris said with a click of her tongue. "I hope you're ready to leave now then, because I am." She limped forward, toward the doors, and Cilan needed another moment to collect himself, lest his newest companions catch the embers of his distemperment. Georgia could feel the heat though, and she did a double-take between him and Iris.

This was going to be an interesting journey.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Undercityrezident for the use of his character Gerard Poltiere._


	4. What Grows

**Chapter IV: What Grows**

 _Team Plasma was really good at not only making people believe in Pokémon liberation, but also making people believe that Team Plasma actually believed in it._

 _And it was hard_ _not_ _to believe they cared about it, at least in some kind of twisted way. Team Plasma used any means necessary to advance its public agenda. The group blazoned its message across buildings; they slathered their symbols onto the bodies of those they claimed were oppressors; they used violence to capture the headlines, and they used passion to capture the hearts of people who would turn against their own country._

 _It might have been a radical concept, but it was accompanied by passionate rhetoric that could sway anyone with a bleeding heart, a conspiratorial head, and a set of ideals for a better Unova: "Pokémon are slaves to the selfish desires of humans!"; "The League and its subsidiaries hold up a system of Pokémon oppression!"; "Champion Alder is a tyrant who condones the injustices against Pokémon!"; "The Truth Seekers are a dog to the League and only seek to create their own convenient truth!"; "All trainers must release their Pokémon; only then will people and Pokémon truly be equal!"_

 _Yet, for every person they recruited, the Truth Seekers recruited another, and another was driven to leave Unova, until there was only the left and the right and no space in between._

* * *

Iris hastily pushed pushed open the bathroom stall and, staggering inside, threw down the toilet lid before dropping onto the seat. She reached for the end of her left legging and began to roll it up, emitting a sharp, short hiss when her fingers brushed too roughly against the sensitive skin beneath the day-old bandages.

Ten days had passed since she had left the hospital. Ten days, and the burn on her leg should have been healed. And it might have been, had she folded under Cilan's insistence that they hold off on traveling until her injury had healed. She wasn't willing to give him the satisfaction though—a wounded pride was worse than a wounded leg—and, regardless, she would have chosen to keep traveling even if she knew the cost ahead of time.

She slid her backpack off her shoulder and pushed a long, misplaced lock of hair out of her face after she bent down to unzip the front pocket. She groped for the half-empty tube of Rawst ointment prescribed to her at the hospital and, after pulling it out, clumsily unscrewed the cap so that she accidentally dropped it and it rolled across the tile. She paid little mind to that, however, as she squeezed out a generous dollop of the medicine onto her finger and pressed it against her reddened skin.

Iris let out a shaky breath and leaned back, letting the ointment's effects play out. Just a touch was always met with a sharp, burning sensation that cooled into relief, and the pain subsided, at least temporarily. Iris always did this alone. She would be embarrassed if her companions learned of her appetence for the remedy; Cilan because she didn't want to reinforce his condescension about her wellbeing, Georgia and Burgundy because... it was Georgia and Burgundy, and she didn't want to give them any more reason to pity her.

Once the relief had set in, Iris dressed her burn with a fresh set of gauze and retrieved the roaming cap from the floor. She screwed the cap back onto her tube of ointment, returned all her tools of medical care to her bag, balled up the old set of gauze, and tossed it into the trash can while on her way out of the bathroom, wearing an expression that gave no hint of her plight.

The small breakfast café, formerly a local hotbed of activity in the a.m., was sparsely populated that summer morning. Much of Striaton City, in fact, was noticeably more bare upon their arrival less than an hour earlier. The exact whereabouts of the city's inhabitants was unknown, but there were several theories forming in the minds of Iris and her companions: Perhaps the residents had retreated into the deteriorating security of their own homes, or perhaps they had—as some news reports would indicate—joined the growing wave of Unovans leaving the country for safer grounds. Maybe they had joined the Truth Seekers or, alternatively, Team Plasma.

The reasons behind the desertion were easier to guess at. The case against staying was growing every day, strengthening with each new _incident_ , until the arguments were stacked so high that any opposing justifications seemed petty in comparison; the truth was, those who did stay were too stubborn or too poor or too paralyzed to leave.

"Thank you," Cilan mumbled as a sleepy waitress refilled the cup of grainy coffee he'd drained within minutes of receiving. His hands were anxious, visibly so, and he kept them at the handle of his mug to avoid rapping against the wooden tabletop and drawing the ire of his company. His breakfast, though—he'd barely touched it, if at all.

He was seated next to a tall glass window, offering him a view of the seasonally-uncharacteristic gray sky. Across the table, huddled together, were Georgia and Burgundy. Georgia's attention was buried in a yellowing copy of a two-day-old newspaper she'd picked up for free, and Burgundy was looking over her shoulder, a better option than having to make small talk with Cilan. Iris joined the table without comment, seating herself beside Cilan. She watched his fingers tap nervously along the the rim of his cup before raising her eyes toward Georgia and Burgundy on the other side. The physical divide between each end of the table gave a generally accurate read of what their journey together over the past ten days had been like.

Georgia suddenly, audibly scoffed, her fingers crinkling into the edges of her paper.

"'The reason for the collapse of the Skyarrow Bridge is still under investigation, and we ask that the media not draw any hasty conclusions,'" she repeated a quote aloud with evident disgust. "Bullshit. They know the reason; the reason is obvious. There were lightning marks in blue paint on the west end of the bridge."

"Allegedly," Cilan quietly reminded her.

"Didn't you see the pictures on your feed when we got in?" Georgia asked. The services that normally supplied their Xtransceivers and other communication devices didn't work well on the isolated route they had taken from Nimbasa to Striaton, causing them to go the span of several days without any idea of what was going on in the rest of the world. Today was the first they'd learned of the bridge, which had actually fallen a couple days earlier.

"I did," Cilan tacitly replied. "They could have easily been photoshopped." Seeing her annoyed expression, he added, " _Believe_ me, I'm not trying to write off the political violence that's been happening as exaggerated. It's undeniable at this point. I just don't want to get caught up in a ferment of half-truths; so much can get distorted when people get emotional, and I want to know what's real."

Something about his phrasing intrigued her. There was a subtle softening in her expression, a new look of contemplation as she studied him. Iris recognized that look because it hadn't been too long since she had felt the same revelation, and she tightened her lips. Cilan's eyes were too preoccupied with his lukewarm drink to notice Georgia's peeling gaze, but she eventually released him of her scrutiny and returned her attention to her paper.

"Oh—they ran a story memorializing all the students who died in the Nimbasa attack," Georgia remarked after another brief spell of silence. She laid the paper down in the center of the table to show the content of the spread: seven mugs of the deceased, their names, ages, ranks, followed by the story. Cilan, Iris, and Burgundy all leaned forward to get a look at it.

"I don't know any of them," Cilan concluded, his voice low.

"Neither do I," Burgundy added, equally reticent. "I recognize some of them, though—I mean, I've seen some of them before."

Iris remained silent, scanning the page. Then, she looked toward Georgia, asking, "Was there anything about the Pokémon?"

"The Pokémon?" Georgia repeated.

The question seemed to annoy Iris. "The Pokémon," she pressed more forcefully. "There were twenty-three Pokémon who died in that fire, too. Aren't they mentioned anywhere?"

"I don't know. I didn't actually read it." From Georgia's tone, it was easy to tell she was now equally irritated. "I just thought our connoisseurs might be interested in it."

The dispute stopped there. The dissenting parties turned their eyes toward Cilan and Burgundy expectantly. The article remained open in the middle of the table. Cilan's gaze was still turned low, though, and Burgundy frowned before snatching the paper up for herself.

"Well, since I'm the one who apparently cares..." she mumbled with acerbity. Cilan didn't react to her jab, but Iris—already in an agitated mood—did. Her gaze, which had since gleaned an intense shade of red, hardened toward the connoisseuse, and there was poison in her voice when she spoke.

"Oh, so _you're_ the caring one," Iris retorted. She flicked her head toward Cilan when she added, "He hasn't seen his family in weeks, and we're sitting here in a café in his hometown eating pastries because he was too nice to object to us coming here when you wanted breakfast."

"Don't talk like I don't get it," Burgundy snapped back. "I'm anxious to see my Pokémon. And _you_ also wanted to stop here. But, whatever. If he wants to leave, then he can leave."

"That's enough," Cilan cut in before the fight could devolve any further. "I apologize for my reservation. I didn't mean to imply indifference." He reached for his backpack and stood up. "I should return to the gym, but I can meet up with you later at the Pokémon Center."

"Why?" Despite Cilan's efforts to defuse the situation, Burgundy still spoke with belligerence, causing Cilan to prick up in surprise.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Why?" Burgundy repeated. "We joined up to make sure we'd get to Striaton safely. Well, we're here now. There's no sense in drawing this out." Georgia raised her eyebrows and glanced toward Iris and Cilan, but made no motion to object. Iris herself gave a quick, unconscious nod, apparently agreeing, before looking up at Cilan. He caught her gaze and, feeling himself the odd one out, resigned to a goodbye.

"Right," he said, better securing his bag around his shoulders. "Well, it was a pleasure regardless, ladies. I wish you the best wherever you're headed next."

Iris rose beside him. Her unfriendly gaze had locked onto Burgundy again, and Burgundy returned the look. Georgia rolled her eyes when it became apparent neither were going to offer any parting words, and she cleared her throat.

"Thanks Cilan," she said plainly. "You too." He nodded to her with an amenable smile, and he and Iris left the café without further delay.

"What a pleasant note to end on," Georgia said wryly once they were gone. Burgundy fell back into her seat with a huff, folding her arms as she did.

"Iris is more of a _chienne_ than I remember," she grumbled.

"Yeah, she's you on a good day," Georgia snorted. Burgundy glowered at her but didn't retort. She instead resentfully resumed her breakfast, leaving the newspaper unoccupied again. Georgia reached for it, deciding she didn't want to try to converse with a surly Burgundy.

She decided to read through the article memorializing the PCA students. There wasn't a mention of the Pokémon. It was bad reporting, Georgia silently agreed. She wouldn't have even thought to look for it if Iris hadn't mentioned it. She didn't even realize that many had died.

Georgia flipped through several more pages—and then her breath caught. "Oh Mew..." she breathed. She nearly knocked over her chair when she stood up and bolted toward the door, causing a scene among the few patrons that were there.

"Cilan?!" she called out his name once she reached the street. "Cilan!" Her voice reverberated eerily in the near-emptiness of the city. Cilan and Iris were already gone.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Iris was the first to break the silence of several blocks. Cilan blinked and glanced her way. Her arms were folded and pulled tightly to her, while her eyes were low with penitence. "I hate it when people speak for me. I should've known better than to do that to you."

Cilan's lips twitched into a smile. "I knew you were coming from a place of caring," he said graciously, welcoming the apology. Iris seemed more at ease with his forgiving response, and she loosened her arms.

"I guess Burgundy was really grating on me," she went on. She paused then, shaking her head. "I don't know how you tolerate her."

"She's on edge. We all are—you included," Cilan said. Iris said nothing in return; she knew he was right, Cilan could tell, though she didn't want to openly admit it. He continued on a different note, "You know, I was fine with stopping. None of us had eaten, you needed to change your bandages—" Iris flinched when he brought it up. "—and I wanted some time to think."

Iris blinked and finally brought her eyes to his again. "To think?" she inquired. Cilan pressed his lips together, considering how to word his response. It was a delicate topic, he knew, and there was quite possibly no way of mentioning it without ruffling Iris's temper.

"I have to admit, I'm nervous about asking my brothers about going to Castelia," he finally elaborated. "I'm not sure what to say."

Iris frowned. "Well, don't ask me for advice," she said. It was a mild reply, and Cilan was grateful for that. He supposed she'd lost much of her charge from her spat in the café.

The gym was around the upcoming corner. It occurred to Iris that maybe she didn't want to go in with him, and that maybe he felt the same. He was going to proposition his brothers about joining the Truth Seekers; there were no two ways about that. Her being there would complicate matters. Their final parting was fast coming anyway. They too had travelled together for safety, and in that sense, Burgundy had a point: Why draw it out?

The same question must have been on Cilan's mind, because he soon cleared his throat and asked, "When will you be leaving?" His voice was quiet, strained. It was much more difficult to broach this topic than anything else.

Iris shrugged. "Probably in the morning," she replied.

"You ought to stay the night," Cilan offered. "Cress and Chili wouldn't mind. They'd be happy to see you."

"You don't think they'll wonder why I'm not going with you?" Iris said with an uneven smile.

"Of course they will," Cilan answered bluntly. "But, you won't even tell me where you're going, and I have to live with that. They will too."

Iris pressed her lips into a hard line. "I guess," she said. Chili and Cress didn't know her as well and would be more suspicious than Cilan. She wasn't sure she was willing to put up with that, but at the same time, she wasn't willing to say goodbye just yet.

They were passing through an unbusy strip mall, and Iris saw an upcoming electronics store with a news broadcast playing on a flatscreen in the window. The anchor was covering the collapse of the Skyarrow Bridge.

"I'm going to stop here for a little bit," Iris announced suddenly. Cilan gave her an odd look, doing a double take between her and the store.

" _Here?_ " he questioned. The merchandise did not appeal to Iris's typical interests, to say the least.

"I just think you need some time alone with your brothers," Iris explained. "I'll catch up with you later though."

Cilan appeared uncertain, even if the proposal was sensible. "Well, thank you," he said. "You _will_ come by though?" He wanted the reassurance she wouldn't leave without a proper goodbye.

"Yeah." Iris nodded.

"Okay." Cilan seemed more willing then. "Well, in that case, I'll see you later." He continued up the street, and Iris watched him for a moment before heading inside.

There were two other people in the store: The middle-aged clerk and a brunette trainer, her back turned away from Iris, browsing through the latest collection of new Xtranscievers. Iris passed slowly through a different aisle from the other trainer, looking through a variety of used devices: Pokétchs, Pokégears, a Holo Caster... It was with utter disinterest that she looked at them, but she didn't want the appearance of only being there to watch the news.

" _... So what update can you give us at this time, Cara?_ "

" _Well, Spencer, officials are still investigating the exact reason for the collapse of the bridge. It seems the investigation is only now just getting started with the recovery of the final missing person's body this morning. They have not released the name of that person and won't until they have contacted the family._ "

" _So there's no indication whether Team Plasma is behind the collapse?_ "

" _Nothing is confirmed yet, Spencer._ "

The clerk must have noticed Iris was keeping an eye on the screen, because he leaned over the counter and said, "Terrible, isn't it?" Iris snapped her head toward him in surprise.

"Uh, yeah," she answered quickly.

"It's hard to watch, but I can't seem to tear myself away from it," the clerk went on, shaking his head. "It's bad for business, too. I had a boom with people coming in lookin' to get stuff that works overseas, but now, there's hardly anyone here to get anything. I'm thinking about closing up myself and heading out, especially with what happened in the city last week."

Iris furrowed her brow, feeling a tiny prick of alarm at his words. "... What happened in the city?" she asked cautiously.

"You didn't hear?" He seemed genuienly surprised. "I mean, if you want to see for yourself, Striaton Gym is just around the block."

Her trepidation became paralyzing at that. She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before movement found her again, and she inhaled sharply before running out the door and up the empty street. Around the corner, and she saw it; or rather, what was left of it.

The Striaton Gym was a point of pride in the city, at least according to Cilan. It was one of the oldest buildings there—established at the outset of modern Unova—a mansion that had stayed within the family for generations before it was eventually converted to house both a posh restaurant and gym. And now, it had been reduced to ashes.

Iris's breath was uneven, and her hands trembled slightly as she passed through the gates leading toward the extirpated gym. She pulled down some yellow police tape tied between two of decorative columns that still stood and continued on uninhibited. She stepped over what was left of the grand entrance doors and into the dining area: ashen, unusable, but still recognizable.

Half of the building's walls were fallen or lost to a fire. The blueprint laid plainly in gray before her. She could see most everything: the kitchen, the battlefield, the stairs leading to the now-missing living quarters of the gym. Iris pressed forward apprehensively, blinking in the sight, hardly believing any of it was real. She'd been there many times over the years: First to watch Ash battle the trio of gym leaders, then for holiday parties and birthday parties, or just to visit her long-time friend. Those memories, along with the countless of its tenants, now rose in a thin, dusty smoke.

Iris nearly jumped when she stepped and heard glass crack beneath her feet. She stepped back and saw she had cracked a large, surviving frame that showcased what appeared to be a very long and detailed family tree.

She snapped her head up again. "Cilan!" She cupped her hands around her mouth and called for him, but there was no reply. She moved forward quicker now, rounding one of the several walls that still stood, and there she saw him. His back was toward her; he was on the southern end of the battlefield, facing another wall. She hurried to his side. "Cilan," she repeated his name.

He didn't respond again. His head was locked forward in a hollow stare, and dread curled inside Iris's chest before she looked where he did and, stiffening, realized what had him trapped in a benumbed daze. There on the wall, spraypainted in blue, were the words, "POKÉMON LIBERATION."

"I don't know where they are." When Cilan finally spoke, his voice was shaking, watery around the edges. Iris did not need him to elaborate, but he added anyway, "I don't know where Chili and Cress are. I tried calling them already, but it just goes to voicemail."

She exhaled. "Cilan..." she breathed, unable to say anything else, not knowing what else to say. His eyes were glassy, and he briefly turned his head away and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bottom half of the lids, sweeping his digits toward the bridge of his nose, collecting the tears before they could fall. She'd seen Cilan cry before, but not like this—not in raw, candid grief.

Iris reached for the open hand hanging at his side, pressing her thumb against his knuckles. He didn't reciprocate her grip, nor did she expect him to. She doubted he was even conscious of the fact she was holding his hand. Yet, when a series of loud barks tore through the air, his fingers reflexively folded into her palm, and they both turned to see a Herdier traversing over the detritus toward them.

"If you're wondering, your brothers made it out fine." The voice was deeper, but familiar. From behind the wall where Iris had arrived appeared a lean, blond male in his late teens, perhaps the same age as Iris. He raised a Pokéball from his front pocket and called back the Herdier with the usual red beam of light, and Iris's eyes widened with recognition.

"Trip," she remembered. "You're Trip. What are you doing here?"

"I saw you running up the street, and I thought I recognized you," he answered shortly. "I sent my Herdier ahead to find you."

Trip's words finally catching up to him, Cilan inhaled sharply and, letting go of Iris's hand, burst out, "What do you know about them? Chili and Cress, I mean." Realizing he was speaking louder than usual, he pulled back the volume, and asked more composedly, "How do you know about them?"

"I was in the city when it happened," Trip explained. "There was a systematic attack on Striaton by Team Plasma. The Striaton Gym was one of the targets."

Iris and Cilan both needed a moment to let this news sink in. They exchanged a long, uneasy glance. It was no wonder Striaton City was depleted of nearly all its citizenry.

"What were the other targets?" Iris asked quietly.

"The Fennel Research Lab, the Trainer Preparatory School, the Pokémon Center..." Trip listed them off on his fingers, but he stopped suddenly, flicking his eyes toward Cilan specifically. "That's how I know your brothers are all right. I was staying at the Pokémon Center. I saw them both later, talking to Nurse Joy, before they left the city."

At that, Iris quickly turned toward Cilan and said, optimiscally, "They must have left you a message with Nurse Joy then. They knew you were coming here, and they knew you would have to go to the Pokémon Center at some point."

Cilan appeared relieved with this revelation. Yet, there was an unsettling detail that stuck with him, dissipating that relief. He asked, "What happened at the Pokémon Center?"

* * *

Georgia and Burgundy were sitting alone in the Pokémon Center's lobby when Cilan and Iris entered in a rush, with Trip a few slower paces behind them. It was immediately evident there had been an attack of some kind. An entire section of the lobby's left wall was missing, and in its place was a heavy-duty plastic sheet, covering the area until it could be rebuilt. Nurse Joy and her Audino were still behind the also slightly-damaged counter. Typical operations had to carry on despite the devastating losses.

Burgundy was turned away from the doors, her face hidden, buried, but Georgia noticed their arrival immediately and quickly rose to greet them.

"Cilan!" she addressed him first and singularly. Her miserable expression foretold that she knew what he now did. "I tried to tell you—I saw something about it in the paper right after you left." She, demoralized and uncharacteristically flustered, was grasping for something to say. "I'm so sorry. Your brothers—"

"—left me a message here." Cilan stopped her there, the politest signal he could give that he didn't want to talk right then. "Excuse me." He stepped around her and headed toward the counter. Georgia watched him for a moment before looking back at Iris.

"Are Burgundy's Pokémon okay?" Iris asked, though she already knew the answer from seeing Burgundy drawn wretchedly into herself on that bench.

Georgia shook her head and let out a long, heavy sigh. "They're gone," she said. "Team Plasma took them in the raid. Burgundy had numbers 90, 91, 92, and 93, and none of them are here."

Iris's chest tightened, even though she expected this response. It was unconscionable; first the Striaton Gym, now this. She was not even directly affected by either circumstance, but natural sympathy gripped her heart and reduced her to a smaller, unguarded version of herself. Georgia folded her arms and averted her eyes. The same had happened to her.

Iris couldn't stand to see her own former rival looking vulnerable, so she pushed past her, too, and seated herself beside Burgundy. The connoissuese wasn't crying, but she clearly had been. There was no concealing the pink, damp ring beneath her violet eyes, vacant as they were.

"I'm sorry," Iris started in a low voice. Burgundy did not move at all; she was in the same insensate state as Cilan had been. Iris tried to add hopefully, "Team Plasma supports 'Pokémon liberation.' If they really believe in what they say, then they wouldn't have hurt your Pokémon. They have to be out there some—"

"—Iris," Burgundy cut her off. Her tone was callous, unfeeling. "I know you're trying to help. You are not helping." That said, she stiffly stood up and left to join Georgia. Iris frowned and glanced back toward Cilan, who was receiving a closed envelope from Nurse Joy, for which he thanked her. She nodded in acknowledgement to him, and he stepped away so she could help the next in line: Trip.

She watched Cilan pull the one-page letter out of its envelope and tried to read his expression as he looked over its content. Whatever it said, it must not have been long, because he quickly folded it back up and held it close to him as he headed toward the bench to sit beside her. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to share what his brothers wrote. He kept his gaze low for a while, however, before he finally, quietly said, "They went to Castelia City,"

Iris blinked. He unfolded the paper just enough to give her a peek at what it said:

 _Cilan,_

 _We're sorry we couldn't wait here for you. Leaving without you was the hardest choice we had_  
 _to make, but it wasn't safe for us to stay anymore. We want you to stay safe, too, and we want_  
 _you to do what will you keep you safest until we can meet again._

 _If you want to find us though—_

It was there that Cress—unsteady as it was, it was definitely Cress's handwriting; Chili's was messier, and he would have been far too emotional to compose such a piece anyway—drew a large T that took up most of the page. Below that, he wrote, " _Remember liberty, because the truth will set you free._ "

Cilan folded the letter up again, and Iris drew in a long breath.

"That's good," she said. "That's what you wanted. You're headed there anyway, and you'll find them there."

Cilan's grip tightened on the letter. He apparently did not share the same positive view of the situation.

"Skyarrow collapsed two days ago," he remarked anxiously. The mention brought the reporter's saying that the final missing body had been recovered at the site of the bridge to the forefront of Iris's mind, but she quickly dismissed thought.

"They would've left four days ago," Iris assured him. "They wouldn't have reached it by the time it collapsed. They're probably just barely making it to Nacrene City, and they're probably learning about it the same way we did."

"I know." Cilan nodded. He then offered her a weak, meaningless smile. "But it begs the question: How are they going to get there? How am _I_ going to get there?"

"Go around it," Iris said as if it were obvious. "Head north to Black City and take Marvelous Bridge, then down to Castelia from there. I bet you they're going to do the same thing."

The conversation halted there as Georgia approached and, folding her arms and slinging her wait to one hip, said, "Burgundy and I are staying the night. What are your plans?"

A brief spell of silence followed. Iris wasn't keen on giving an answer, and Cilan needed a moment to think of his. Finally, he responded, "I'm going to look for my brothers."

"Where are they?" Georgia asked.

Cilan hesitated.

"I'm not sure," he replied. He was not going to reveal their going to the Truth Seekers, but he cautiously added, "... Iris thinks, probably rightfully so, that they're on their way to Black City." Burgundy fell to Georgia's side. Suddenly and unreasonably fearing he'd said too much, Cilan changed the subject, asking, "What are you and Burgundy planning to do?"

"We're going to get her Pokémon back," Georgia said bluntly, without pause.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

They turned their eyes toward Trip, now joining the circle with his hands in his pockets and a look of doubt on his face. Nurse Joy had retreated into the back room of the Center to attend to some other matter. Georgia, instead of responding to the demurring remark, narrowed her gaze, giving him a once-over.

"I recognize you," she eventually said. "You're Trip McGonnigal. You're a part of the Don George competitor circuit."

"Used to be," he corrected.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were from Nuvema."

"I am," he affirmed. "I was just passing through, and I happened to be here the night Team Plasma attacked the city. I tried to help defend against the raid on the Pokémon Center, and I and some other trainers drove them out before they could get their hands on all the refugee PCA Pokémon staying here."

"Well, they got their hands on enough of them, didn't they?" Burgundy muttered bitterly. If Trip took offense to her comment, he didn't show it. He merely glanced her way for a brief moment, then returned his attention to the full group.

"I'm the only one of those trainers who's still here," he continued. "My Serperior was hurt. I haven't been able to travel since. Nurse Joy said I can take him tomorrow, though. And then we're going to Castelia City."

The mere mention of Castelia City was enough to set off a growth of a cautious—or, in Iris's case, suspicious—intrigue among all the parties. Only Georgia was bold enough to act on her curiosity, however. Her lips curled into a sly smile, and her voice was low and inviting when she spoke.

"Oh, I see," she said.

"What's that tone for?" Trip glowered at her.

"You're joining the Truth Seekers, aren't you?" Georgia asked plainly, and both Cilan and Burgundy inhaled sharply.

"Georgia, we're—" Burgundy started, but Georgia waved her off before she could continue.

"—in an empty lobby," she finished confidently. Iris leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. She could appreciate Georgia's forthrightness. Georgia looked directly at Trip again and, pressing for an honest answer, said, "I'm right, aren't I?"

Trip exhaled.

"Yes," he answered, and Georgia looked quite satisfied with herself.

"That's where Burgundy and I are headed, too," she said. "That was our plan all along, but now we have an extra incentive: Join the Truth Seekers, go up against Team Plasma, and then maybe there's a chance we can get Burgundy's Pokémon back."

"Well, that just works out so nicely for all of you," Iris interjected dryly, "because that's where Cilan is headed, too." Cilan flinched, not fully sure he wanted the others to have that knowledge, but there was nothing he could do to change it now. Georgia's smile only widened.

"I thought so," she said coolly, glancing at the connoisseur, "the way you were talking earlier."

"My brothers are going there," Cilan weakly excused.

"But it was always your original intention," Georgia asserted, and Cilan couldn't contest that—mainly because it was true—so he didn't. Georgia's immodest attitude receded, and she took on a serious tone when she said, "In that case, we ought to resume our traveling party. We've got a longer journey ahead and a bigger group to match."

Trip knew the"bigger group" referred to him, and he looked uncertain. "I don't do well in groups," he informed Georgia.

Georgia whipped her head back toward him and said, without reserve, "Not many of us do, but wise up: You're better traveling with multiple people than alone."

Trip pressed his lips into a hard line, holding her gaze, considering his options. Knowing she was ultimately right, however, he resigned to her insistence with a nod.

"All right," he agreed. "7 a.m. tomorrow, toward Black City." He turned to leave, brushing past Burgundy, whose gaze was still fallen and whose hands were clasped tightly together and were anxiously wringing themselves.

"'That just works out so nicely for all of you,'" she mumbled quietly. Trip stopped, confused for a moment, thinking she was saying something to him. However, he, along with everyone else, quickly realized she had actually repeated verbatim something Iris had said only minutes earlier. Iris, realizing her mistake, tensed up in response and grew more wary as Burgundy slowly raised her eyes toward hers.

"What is it?" Iris half-demanded, though there was little power behind her voice to generate the forbidding sound she wanted.

"You said it works out nicely 'for all of you,'" Burgundy elaborated, speaking in a slow, stern manner. "You're not coming."

Georgia and Trip realized she had a point; Cilan, already knowing Iris never wanted to join the underground group, turned a careful gaze on her, wondering how she would respond. Iris's firm expression didn't break, but she wetted her lips in preparing for her reply.

"I was never on my way to the Truth Seekers," she admitted. "I overshot my destination so I could go all the way to Striaton with Cilan." _This_ was news to Cilan, and his speculative expression transformed into surprise.

"Where are you headed then?" Georgia asked, now leery of the Dragon-type trainer. Therein lay the reason why Iris never wanted anyone else to fall under the impression she and Cilan were moving on different tracks, true as it might be. Cilan's amenability concealed the need for any outside concerns about where she was going. Cilan's uncertainties alone she could handle, even if it was a pain; his combined with Georgia's, Burgundy's, and Trip's were a far different story though.

"What does it matter?" Iris said lightly. "North is where I need to be going anyway, so if you don't mind, I'll stick with you guys for a little bit longer."

They wouldn't protest—but they definitely minded.

* * *

There were next to no others trainers staying in the Pokémon Center that evening. They could have each had their own room if they wanted, and Nurse Joy had offered such, even if it was technically against policy. Yet, it was only Trip who agreed to the suggestion; he'd been staying in his own room for several nights by then anyway. Burgundy and Georgia had opted to stay together though, and somehow, so had Iris and Cilan.

The room was pitch-black. It was far past lights-out, and yet, Iris couldn't find rest. The glow of the digital clock on the nightstand separating her and Cilan's beds read 2:11 a.m., and Iris grew increasingly frustrated with every minute that slipped by, especially know they were supposed to be departing in less than five hours. Every time she closed her eyes, however, the anxieties of the day filled her head, but if she opened her eyes, the anxieties of tomorrow painted ominous pictures across the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?" Iris was surprised when Cilan's crisp voice cut through the darkness. He must have heard her shifting around in bed.

"No," Iris answered, laying her hands atop her chest.

"Me neither," he admitted. Iris realized he must have been having an even more difficult time sleeping; he had more reason for it. She closed her eyes again and sucked in her breath.

"Tonight wasn't supposed to be like this," she said. That morning, she imagined, Cilan had envisioned a happy reunion with his brothers in a home that bustled with even just a few patrons who still remained in the city. They would enjoy a nice meal amid serious talk, but it would be together, and they would go to bed— _their_ beds—uncertain but reassured that they were all united in their decision.

A short silence followed. Then:

"Cress and Chili are alive," Cilan said quietly. "That's all that matters. Everything else—they're just—things. Material objects. They don't mean anything."

"It was your home," Iris said gently. "It's okay for it to mean something."

Silence followed again, but this time, it wasn't broken. Iris could see the outline of Cilan's form turn over so that he was facing the wall, facing away from her, where he finally found sleep.


	5. What Breaks

**Chapter V: What Breaks**

 _Passion is a powerful and dangerous weapon if it's being used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons, and it was definitely used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons. People will fight for the things they care about, but they'll do so much more, and so much worse, for the things they're passionate about. The basic things about human decency people learn as kids don't matter anymore; it somehow becomes okay to lie, to steal, to destroy, to kill, as long as it's in the name of their cause._

 _Team Plasma capitalized on passion: "We all love Pok_ _émon. Our entire culture is built on Pokémon. But if you really love Pokémon, wouldn't you want them to be happy? Wouldn't you_ _want to do right by them? If so, then you've got to free them_ _—and you've got to fight to free the rest of them, too, no matter what it takes."_ _Once Team Plasma hooked someone in with this kind of rhetoric, they could get that person to do anything._

 _On the other end of the spectrum, it's pretty universal wisdom that the oldest and the strongest kind of fear is the fear of the unknown. The rest of us—the ones who weren't swayed by Team Plasma's emotional rhetoric—were scared. Our sense of normalcy had deteriorated beyond recognition. We did not know what was happening—it seemed no one did—and there were active efforts to keep it that way. The leaders and mentors and teachers we had traditionally relied on for guidance were gone. Our systems of communication were destroyed. We were conditioned not to trust anyone._

 _The Truth Seekers benefited from fear._ _Fear combined with ignorance creates a mob; the mob had questions; the Truth Seekers had answers; the Truth Seekers turned that mob into an army, and they became a force that could stand up against Team Plasma and wipe out any other idealistic detractors in the name of restoring our normal._

 _The conflict created a terrible kind of dichotomy: us vs. them. If you're not with us, then you must be against us. The nuances were lost to blocks of black and white. That was goal, though. If you could turn everyone against each other, boil a complicated mess of issues into a slogan, then you could get what you wanted: a civil war, and whoever was left standing would be in charge._

 _It almost worked, too. That's the scary part. The only reason it didn't was because there was someone who didn't run away, who didn't ignore the conflict or try to stay out of it, but instead stood directly in the line of fire, refusing to jump into either of the trenches._

 _It was no-man's land:_ _the middleground._

* * *

Iris remembered the symbol: A shield divided straight down the line, black and white, with a stylized P blazoned in electric blue on the front.

Her sight was bleary at the time from the cold, and the sign was difficult, at times, to make out in the torrent of snow. It had been snowing nonstop for weeks by then, but the more they had journeyed forward and up, the sharper the snowflakes felt, and the more erratic their patterns became. At the time, Iris couldn't understand why her parents wanted to come this way when they could have stayed in the village: safe, inside, warm.

But then there was the man. She couldn't say anything about how he looked now; she didn't think she was able to really get a good look at him anyway. All she _could_ remember of him was the symbol, and she could remember her mother marching forward to confront him with Pokéball in hand while her father held her close, a Pokéball also raised—defensively, in contrast to her mother's offensive stance.

"You leave this place!" Nadie ordered.

The man said something in return, a refusal, though the words were beyond Iris's recognition. Nadie gave no further warning: Her massive Salamence emerged from its safe holding and with it came a blinding roar of fire. Iris couldn't remember anything further of the man after that.

Iris sat alone atop her sleeping bag, unmoved, despite having awoken from her restless sleep perhaps ten or even fifteen minutes earlier. Drayden's letter lay unfurled in her lap. She had read it again, twice again, for the upteempth time, and now her thumb trailed along the edge of the paper, dulling from both the rigors of travel and multiple revisitations. It hadn't occurred to her how terrible a death by fire would be until recently. Now it was on her mind a lot.

Georgia and Burgundy were socializing near the low-burning morning fire, with Cilan somewhat being included in their conversation (only by Georgia). Trip was nowhere in sight, but the presence of his sleeping bag indicated he couldn't be far off. Iris folded up Drayden's letter once again, carefully slid it back into its envelope, and stored it away in her bag once again before rising to her feet.

Doing so was just enough to call attention to herself. Georgia and Burgundy fell silent, and suspicious gazes followed. Cilan, only half-attentive at the time, realized something was awry with the the abrupt lull in conversation, and he looked up, confused, before seeing that three young women were staring each other down. He appeared alarmed, then unsure of how to respond, but Iris deprived him of the opportunity, because she turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Beyond a small grove of trees there was a creek from which they'd been collecting their water since stopping there. That was where she found Trip, just at the edge, washing his face. Iris hadn't meant to find company, and she almost turned back around before remembering that Georgia and Burgundy would be worse to deal with, especially with Cilan's indecision. So she plodded down the incline and sat on a large rock protruding from the bank's edge, only a couple feet away from Trip.

"Good morning," she greeted a little stiffly.

Trip didn't respond as he cleared his face of the dripping water with a small hand towel. He then cast her a sideways look, giving her a once-over.

"What do you want?" he asked. The question wasn't posed aggressively, but Iris still frowned.

"I don't want anything," she said. "I'm just acknowledging you. It's nice to be acknowledged."

Trip stood up, wiping his hands next, before storing away the hand towel along with his other toiletries.

"You're being passive aggressive over the fact Georgia and Burgundy aren't talking to you because they don't trust you," he said bluntly, and Iris perked up in surprise. "I don't see why you would care—or, if you do, you don't care enough to clear anything up."

"Clear what up?" Iris asked dryly.

"You do realize it's highly suspect that you're not joining the Truth Seekers?" Trip went on. "It calls your motivations into question. If you were just leaving Unova, you might as well just say you're leaving. But you're not. You're not saying anything, which suggests you're planning something the rest of us would find damnable."

"Like joining Team Plasma?" Iris said, unafraid to confront what he was implying. Her words hung in the air for a moment, but Trip's expression didn't betray any indication of shock at her nerve. The interesting thing about Trip, in Iris's opinion, was that he hardly ever appeared surprised. He was thoughtful, analytical, and he considered the possible outcomes of every situation, so it seemed there wasn't much that _could_ catch him off guard.

"Yes, like that," he said.

"And what do you think?" Iris asked. The question was driven by a mix of genuine intrigue and indignation.

Trip let out a short breath to start. "I don't get you," he admitted, "and I don't get what game you're playing. But I do think you care way too much about Cilan to actually be on your way to Team Plasma. Anyone who was truly serious about joining Team Plasma would never do the kind of things for a gym leader, and more to the point, someone who plans on joining the Truth Seekers, as you do for him." Iris drew back a little, suddenly a little wary of what he might be insinuating. He continued, "Overshooting some vague destination just so you can make sure he's okay? Sticking with him even now just because you're not ready to let go? Most friends wouldn't even go that far. Joining Team Plasma would be a personal betrayal to Cilan, and you could never do it, even if you seem to think he's doing it you by joining the Truth Seekers."

Trip then brushed past her, back toward camp, leaving her to marinate in his words.

Iris couldn't let it go, though; only a few steps, and she broke out, "I was never thinking about joining Team Plasma." Trip stopped and threw her a look over his shoulder. She continued, "It wasn't like I had some plan to join them and then spending time with Cilan and seeing him in pain from losing his home and seeing the pain and destruction Team Plasma has caused others made me rethink my position. It was never like that."

Trip craned an eyebrow.

"All right then," he said with a shrug. "It was never like that."

He disappeared and left her alone for the space of several minutes. She would have been content to remain alone longer, but of course, Cilan eventually sought after her. As she half-expected, he had nothing to say on the matter of her ostracization.

"Breakfast is ready," he informed her. "Georgia wants to get moving, so I think we'll have a quick meal before continuing travel for the day."

Iris sucked in her breath. A surge of anger seized her, but she hid it well in both her expression and her tone.

"I'm not going with you," she declared evenly, and Cilan appeared taken aback.

"What?" he asked, blinking. Iris stood up and faced him, folding her arms as she did.

"This is where we have to go our separate ways," she asserted as firmly as before. Cilan's expression fell into disappointment, and the fortifications Iris had briefly been so confident she could uphold already started to crack. She looked away to prevent them from further weakening, adding, "Don't look at me like that. You knew this was coming."

"I suppose," Cilan sighed. "I just wish it was different." Iris lowered her gaze further.

"I do too," she admitted.

"Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise," Cilan suggested, managing to pull her eyes back to him. Yet, Iris frowned at this.

"I have no ground to give," she said, "and I couldn't possibly ask you to give up any of yours. You need to find your brothers." He stared for a moment, now starting to fully comprehend her immovability and the depth of their impasse.

"At least tell me where you're going," he requested. It was a simple enough request in his mind. For a while, he only assumed Iris was concealing her destination to be obstinate, as could be her personality, or because she'd always been private about personal matters that, while of no consequence on his opinion, were sensitive to her. But Burgundy and Georgia's virulent suspicions had crept up on his conscience, and they demanded an answer. Yet, his seemingly simply request visibly drove Iris into distress, and it stirred the worst of his doubts.

"I can't." She wouldn't give in.

"Why not?" he pressed.

"I can't—" Iris's voice cracked for a moment. "I can't—tell—a Truth Seeker."

There it was, out in the open. Cilan knew it was validation enough to question her more seriously about her loyalties, but instead, he only felt hurt.

"Iris, I'm much more than—" he started, but he stopped short and changed his approach. "I'm Cilan. I've always been Cilan, your friend who cares about you and worries about you. I was Cilan before I decided to join the Truth Seekers, and I'm the same person now."

Iris smiled weakly and let out a short, hollow laugh.

"I know, and I also can't tell you because you're Cilan, my friend who cares and worries about me," she said.

"Iris—" He was cut short, hearing Georgia now call for him.

"Cilan, where—?" She appeared at the top at the top of the knoll with Burgundy in tow, but she paused mid-way through her sentence upon seeing the two at odds with each other. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I was just leaving," Iris dismissed.

"Leaving?" Trip was back now too, perturbed as to why all his companions had vanished to this spot.

Cilan quickly looked back at Iris, muttering, "Iris, please don't turn this into a scene." She refused to back down.

"Cilan, you're making this harder than it needs to be," she persisted with a flippant wave of her hand. Her every word, every movement was thinly covered with nonchalance, but under the veil was a rigid sense of regret. "Let's have breakfast, and then I can pack up and get out of your hair. Burgundy and Georgia don't want me around anyway. Trust me, this is ultimately easier for everyone."

Cilan then grew frustrated, saying, "It'd be so much easier to trust if you would just say where you were headed." Iris's already-diluted insouciance dwindled further as he added, "Or even if you just explained why you dislike the Truth Seekers so much. Maybe then they would understand. Maybe then _I_ would understand."

"The Truth Seekers—" Iris started a little sharply, but she quickly stopped herself. Her companion's gazes were piercing, though; Cilan's, especially, implored her to finish, so she sucked in her breath and began again: "The Truth Seekers are the underbelly of the League. They're advocates of the League—always have been—and... the League does not always have the best interests of Pokémon and _all_ of Unova at heart."

She kept it short, simple, not too inflammatory. Yet, Burgundy scoffed and, glancing at Georgia, muttered, "Where have I heard that before?"

Iris tensed up at this, and the strain only worsened when Cilan sighed and said, "Iris, that's just some conspiratorial anti-League rhetoric that's been popularized by Team Plasma."

Iris looked at him incredulously.

" _Conspiratorial?_ " she repeated, offended.

"What you're saying isn't real," Cilan affirmed gently, and Iris looked disgusted.

"I knew it was no use," she muttered angrily before spinning on her heel and stalking back up the incline, scraping past the others, and heading toward their camp.

"Iris!" Cilan called after, but she had already disappeared into the trees. He fell back with a huff whilst his misgivings began to churn uneasily inside him. The same mistrust was reaching the boiling point within his associates however, and one eventually blew her whistle.

"Are you really just going to let her leave?" Georgia demanded, locking her gaze on Cilan. "You heard what she said—she's revealed herself, and she knows where we're going. We can't let her take that back to wherever Team Plasma is. It could compromise the Truth Seekers."

Cilan looked back at her with wide eyes for a moment before snapping his head forward again and hurrying after Iris.

"Iris, don't be unreasonable," he said aloud, hoping she'd hear. When he reached camp again however, he stopped, briefly paralyzed by the sight before him: They had been ransacked, breakfast knocked over, their bags turned upside down and the contents spilled out.

Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip were not far behind, and they too stopped, also stupefied by the sight.

"What... happened... ?" Burgundy questioned. In the heat of that moment, none of them would have put spitefully marauding the camp past Iris, but realistically, she couldn't have possibly afflicted this amount of ruin in the short time she had separated herself from them. Burgundy's question went unanswered as Cilan stepped forward to investigate first, but a voice pulled him back.

"Cilan, look out!" It was Iris. Cilan barely whipped his head halfway back around to see that a Team Plasma grunt wielding a black escrima had jumped from a tree above him, and there was no escaping when the Plasma landed a blow on the back of his head and knocked him to the ground.

"Noivern, go!" Iris—standing at the head of the camp—ordered, calling forth the Dragon-type. Before Cilan's attacker could even raise the escrima for a second hit, he was tackled by a Pokémon that had at least 60 pounds on him. Trip and Georgia scrambled to join the fight, but quickly—and horrifically—realized that neither had any of their Pokémon on them, leaving Iris the sole defender against two adult male Plasma grunts, another having just revealed himself.

The other grunt, realizing his partner was down, reached into his back pocket for some unknown item, but Iris was already two steps ahead.

"Get him!" Iris ordered next, and Noivern sprung off the Plasma grunt that had attacked Cilan and tackled the other. He fell to the ground hard, and the bag around his shoulder fell open, spilling a couple Pokéballs. Sensing Iris's next command before she could verbalize it, Noivern tore the bag off his shoulder with his teeth and flung it to his trainer, who managed to catch it.

Although pinned to the ground, the other Plasma, still successfully retrieved what turned out to be a Pokéball from his pocket.

"Braviary, get us out of here!"

The massive Flying-type emerged with a screech. He knocked back Noivern, freeing his trainer, who then climbed on his back. They swept over to his partner and picked him up, too, before taking to the skies in their escape.

"Hypocrites!" Iris yelled after them. "You say you support Pokémon liberation—at least, for everyone except yourselves!"

They were gone. It was over as quickly as it started, and everyone was still reeling. Iris, adrenaline still running, ended up being the first to recover, and she whipped back around toward Cilan.

"Cilan!" she cried worriedly, hurrying to his side. "Cilan, are you okay?" He was still conscious, and he was trying to sit up as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, I just **—** " He stopped, bringing his hand forward to reveal spots of blood on the tips of his fingers. Iris sucked in her breath, her fingers tightening on the broken bag strap her Noivern had retrieved.

"I still have bandages in my backpack," Iris said, looking toward the others. "Burgundy, go get them."

"Right!" Burgundy nodded and scurried off. Iris handed her spoils to Georgia while Trip went off to collect the Pokéballs that had scattered across the ground in the fray.

Burgundy returned with the medical supplies, and Trip and Georgia conferred together over the Pokéballs. The latter eventually announced, "I think everyone's accounted for." She then asked, "Why didn't they just leave after getting these out of our bags?"

Iris started to unravel her leftover gauze and touched the base of Cilan's neck.

"Burgundy's bag was empty," she said plainly. "They assumed one of us had to have our Pokémon on us." Burgundy's chest tightened at that, but she said nothing.

Trip, meanwhile, pursed his lips, then said, "Well, they weren't wrong apparently."

Iris paused, suddenly feeling the odd mix of estrangement and confusion and gratitude in her companions' gazes upon her. Regardless of their previous doubts, she _had_ saved them from losing their Pokémon to the radical team and being left utterly defenseless in the middle of nowhere. Iris drew out Noivern's Pokéball and returned him.

"I always keep at least one with me when I go off alone now," she said, sliding the ball into her back pocket.

* * *

The morning plans they had for picking up their travel had been dashed. Cilan needed time to recover from what was undoubtedly a concussion—at least, recover enough to travel to the next city, where he could see a doctor—and everyone else needed time simply to recollect themselves. Being attacked while en route to Castelia City had always been a possibility; it was the entire reason they traveled together in the first place. Knowing the possibility, however, left them no less shaken.

Making a new meal was put on hold, as if any of them still had an appetite anyway. A pot of water was boiling over the fire again, and in it, Burgundy was soaking a cloth, disinfecting it. Cilan was resting, a hand pressed hard against his aching head, whilst Georgia and Trip waited upon him. Iris returned to the camp with some pine needles and other small brush to keep the fire going.

The melodrama of the incident had abated, and little had been said since then. Yet Iris, having had quiet time away from the others to think, now finally had something to say:

"Still think I'm going to join Team Plasma and sell out the Truth Seekers?" she asked, looking directly at Burgundy from across the pit. Burgundy appeared uncomfortable but didn't answer.

"Can you really blame us for doubting you?" Georgia threw back in Burgundy's stead.

The inquiry grated on Iris, and she retorted, "I can, actually." She rose to her feet again and folded her arms. "Is it really that hard to think that— _maybe_ —I don't want to be a part of either side? That I see some truth inside of what Team Plasma says, even if I hate what they do to people, and I don't want to join them? ... And I know the Truth Seekers want to bring peace to Unova again, and I do too, but that doesn't change my feelings about them."

"This is war," Trip said flatly; his gaze was distant, somewhere not entirely there. "If you're not a part of the effort, then you're in the way."

Burgundy found her voice again and added, " _Bien sûr._ Neutrality makes it look like you're helping the adversary."

Iris stared at Burgundy for a long moment with a sharp edge of ire in her gaze. She then quickly spun around, went to her bag, and pulled out an envelope. She returned to Burgundy, thrusting the letter out toward her.

"Read it," she ordered calmly, though firmly. "Out loud."

Burgundy immediately wasn't too keen on following the command out of stubborn resentment. Yet, an air of intrigue became palpable among the group upon the letter's appearance, and even Burgundy couldn't resist. She stiffly took the envelope from Iris, pulled out the single printed sheet from inside, and began to read:

" _Iris,_ " Burgundy recited, " _I am sorry that I left you without a proper explanation. My hope was to put an end to the war before it could break, and to protect you. Since you are reading this, you know that, in one way or another, I have failed this nation, and I have failed you. I specifically arranged for this message to be sent to you if I died, and I am sorry that I must now push the burden of my knowledge to you: Team Plasma, the agitator of this growing conflict, has captured Zekrom_." Burgundy's breath hitched; a horrified look fell upon the other's faces, but Iris's expression held firm. Burgundy's voice shook slightly as she continued, " _I-I do not know how, and I do not know to what extent they have him under their control. But I do know this: The only hope we have to end the conflict against them is with Reshiram. You will find him in Dragonspiral Tower. I earnestly hope you will have more success than I did. Have faith in yourself, for I always have._ "

Silence followed. Burgundy stared at the bottom of the letter in that time, as if she couldn't process what she beheld.

"It's signed Drayden Pollock," she finally informed the others.

More silence. Iris's gaze had lowered by then, but Cilan was watching her wide-eyed. He recalled now, with perfect clarity, their conversation on the steps following Drayden's funeral. Her words— _Don't you find it suspicious there's not a body?_ —echoed inside the dead air, and he realized she had known all along that Drayden had not died in a car accident and that she had been hoping he would grasp the true implications of her inquiry. He hadn't.

Trip, ultimately, became the first to speak.

"Reshiram is at Dragonspiral Tower?" he asked. This, above all else, was what attracted his attention.

"Where is that?" Burgundy added on.

"It's maybe a mile or two outside of Icirrus City," Georgia explained briefly. Her speech had become oddly clipped. "I don't see how you'll get anywhere close. The area is closed off to the public."

"I think I have a right and reason to be there," Iris said bluntly.

Georgia didn't respond to the remark, but asked, "So that's where you were planning to go this entire time?"

"Yes," Iris finally admitted, now showing no hesitation. Though emboldened now—it was highly satisfying exonerating herself of the others' judgment—she would quickly come to regret this breakthrough.

"No." Iris turned her head quickly toward the speaker, Cilan. He stood and straightened himself up, continuing, "No, I can't let you do that."

Iris, like Burgundy, didn't take too kindly to being told what to do, or rather, what _not_ to do.

"And why not?" she half-demanded, and he sucked in his breath to reply.

"Iris, you are a very talented trainer, but you are not as experienced nor as skilled as Drayden was." His voice and words had an unusually harsher tone. It was the most forward he had been with Iris in a long time, and in another situation, she might of appreciated it. Now, it inspired only annoyance. Foregoing any polite euphemisms—a sign of how serious his concerns were—he continued, "It's apparent he was killed in his attempt to acquire Reshiram. The same will happen to you."

She briefly faltered but didn't give him any headway.

"I don't claim to be a better trainer than Drayden," she corrected tensely, "but he wouldn't have sent me that if he didn't think I could do anything about it."

"You still can," Cilan said, immediately eliciting Iris's suspicions.

She narrowed her gaze slightly and said, "Do tell."

A pause. Cilan was considering his response, the argument he could make, the points he could bring up, the _reasons_ behind he was right. Iris knew this, and she wasn't anxious for when he would speak again.

"Likely the only reason Team Plasma could succeed in capturing Zekrom is because they have the manpower to do it," Cilan started carefully, and Iris already knew where this was headed. "If we go to the Truth Seekers—"

"—Stop there." Iris held up a hand. "I'm not going to the Truth Seekers. If Drayden wanted the Truth Seekers to be involved, he would have never sent this to me."

"The Truth Seekers were a little-known force two months ago," Cilan persisted. "He—"

"—Drayden knew about the Truth Seekers long before any of you did, trust me on that," Iris dismissed.

"Drayden said himself he did what he did in hopes that he could protect you, and he would not condone a—suicide mission!" These last words in particular were sharp, severe, and yet, there was a real fear lying beneath them.

Iris didn't pick up on it, though—or, if she did, she was too angry for it affect her—and she snarled, "Don't speak for Drayden like you knew him."

"You're not listening to reason," Cilan went on, growing increasingly exasperated. "This is not the time to let your selfish pride cloud your judgement."

"Selfish?" Iris spat the word.

"Yes, selfish." Cilan didn't back down. "I'm acting in behalf of my country. This is my home. On whose behalf are you acting? I'll tell you, your actions are dictated by an irrational grudge and a stubborn idealism that has no ground in reality."

That, above all else, crossed a line.

"How dare you," Iris hissed. "This is my home, too. This was my home _long_ before it was yours or the Truth Seekers, and neither Drayden nor I would be willing to lay down our lives for it if we didn't care about it. And since you've shared what you think about me, let me share what I think about you—" By then, Iris and Cilan had nearly closed the several yards of space previously between them, now up in each other's faces, and Iris showed no restraint when she venomously began, "You're arrogant and condescending, and you act like you know a lot for someone who actually knows so little."

Her index was pointed straight at his chest, and she had stepped menacingly forward again, finally breaking the personal space barrier between them, causing him to start backing up. He only took several steps before he realized what was happening and stopped, holding his ground. The others looked on full-eyed, shocked by both parties' vitriol: Of all their group's members, Cilan and Iris were contestants for the closest pair, and to see Cilan speak with such acrimony and Iris turn on him with similar nasty contempt was appalling.

Burgundy, in particular, was horrified. The words Iris spoke now were all things she'd enumerated to Georgia before in huffy rants, and to see them in action with more power behind them than Burgundy could have ever mustered on her own was stunning in the worst kind of way.

"Your convictions are more important than my feelings, and you'd rather treat me like a child than actually listen and try to understand," Iris went on. She then shook her head, adding, "Why do I hate the Truth Seekers? It doesn't matter when I try to tell you anyway, so why pour my heart out to you and watch it be trampled on?"

That last statement seemed to weaken Cilan's surety in himself. He drew back somewhat, blinking, as if genuinely confused. Iris did not stick around to see whether this sudden irresolution would turn in her favor. She snapped up her bag, pulled out a Pokéball, and left for the river.

* * *

The sky had darkened before Cilan came after Iris. It was the longest he had ever waited to resolve an argument with her; though, calling it an argument was an understatement. They had gone through their disputes throughout the years—more recently now than ever before—but this was by far the worst. They needed the hours apart first to recollect themselves and second to consider how they would want to move forward.

Iris's shoes were off, and her feet were tentatively dipped into the water below her. Her Fraxure was also out of his Pokéball, and his head rested on her lap. It was strange, Cilan thought, seeing the large, bulky Dragon-type snuggled against his trainer like a domestic pet when, earlier in the same day, he'd seen a different Dragon-type's terrifying might under her command. Iris was on the same rock she'd claimed earlier in the day, and that was where Cilan joined her.

"You should be resting," Iris said flatly before he'd even fully settled in beside her.

He paid no mind to this admonition. Instead, he folded his hands together and, despite the fact that neither of their gazes were connecting, cast his eyes downward and said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Iris retorted without hesitation. "I meant every word I said."

"I know you did. So did I," Cilan replied diplomatically. "But I still regret hurting you."

With that, he had dismantled her antagonism. One of hands fell to her right thigh, the one uncovered by Fraxure's head, and she rubbed its length anxiously before casting him a careful, perhaps even somewhat remorseful sideways glance.

"In that case, I'm sorry, too," she said.

Cilan smiled at her weakly and reached out to pet Fraxure atop his head. They said nothing for a while; nothing needed to be said then. They needed to sit in their apologies for a bit, let them sink in.

Eventually, Cilan cleared his throat and asked, "Am I really as arrogant as you say?"

Iris hesitated, but answered, "Sometimes." She paused again before adding, "You condescend to me a lot."

"I don't mean to," Cilan said apologetically.

"I know you don't," Iris conceded. "... And I know I'm really stubborn, too, and that drives you crazy because you hate it when you think people won't listen to reason. So you end up pushing me, and I end up digging in my heels even further, and you push harder."

Each had a hand on Fraxure by then and were petting him. The Dragon-type stretched out his leathery neck contentedly, pleased by the amount of attention he was receiving.

"I suppose our worst traits are also each other's biggest irritants," Cilan mused. Iris frowned, and he appended, "It's not as bad as you might think. We have to work harder at our friendship, which means we have to work harder on ourselves. It's good for us in the end, and I think it brings us closer together, too." She distanced her eyes from his again. Yet, Cilan inclined his head toward her and said, "I still think a compromise is in order."

Iris sucked in her breath.

"I'm listening." Her first concession.

"I want to come to Dragonspiral Tower with you," Cilan proposed. "If you successfully capture Reshiram, then I won't say anything to the Truth Seekers." He didn't need to share the other half of the deal in order to know what it was. He was too polite to put into words, but she was too frank to let it go unsaid.

"And if I die, then you'll go to Castelia and tell the Truth Seekers all about it," she finished candidly. Cilan seized up. He hadn't just refused to say it to avoid hurting her feelings. He'd refused because he didn't want to hear it said at all.

"Iris—!" he started, aghast.

"—No, it's okay." Iris nudged Fraxure, and he lifted his head from her lap. She returned him into his Pokéball and stood up again. "Thanks for trying to word it in a nice way." She glanced back toward the trees. A dim orange light, the campfire, was visible beyond the brush. "How do you plan to account for Trip, Georgia, and Burgundy?"

It was a much-wanted change from the previous topic, and it was one that fell squarely into his comfort zone. Relaxing his shoulders, he said, as if it were the surest thing in the world, "They'll come with us."

Iris raised an eyebrow. Cilan was often confident in his assessments—obviously—but something was different here. Iris was capable of cracking that sometimes-arrogant tenacity—obviously—and drawing forth any lingering doubts, but she sensed there was not a single one hidden beneath his words.

"What makes you so sure?" she asked.

"Because of Trip," Cilan answered simply. "I don't know his motivations, but I could see that the possibility of seeing Reshiram in the flesh appealed to him. He'll want to come. As for Georgia and Burgundy—Burgundy is without her Pokémon and refuses to travel with just Georgia, and Georgia will never leave Burgundy behind. So they will come too if I'm right about Trip, and I'm quite certain I will be."

Iris was half-impressed. She had no holes to shoot.

"How's your head?" she asked, changing the subject yet again, a signal that, for once, she trusted his judgment. Cilan blinked and touched the back of his head.

"Sore," he answered. Then: "Pounding."

Iris nodded slowly, having expected a response akin to the one he'd given.

"I have some dried Cheri Berries in my bag," she offered. "They can help with headaches."

She reached for his hand and helped him to his feet. She didn't immediately let go when he had risen. Neither did he. She was too cautious to bring her eyes up to his though; eye contact would have been uncomfortably intimate then. He, however, watched her carefully and pressed a hand against her upper arm, coaxing her into loosening her grip.

* * *

"Good for you to join us again," Georgia said wryly as Iris strolled back into the camp and claimed a spot near the fire. Cilan flicked his gaze toward Iris, wondering how she would respond—she had been absent for a long time, and the others were undoubtedly curious about what had been said in their conversation. He would leave it to her to share as much or little as she wanted in this case.

Cilan drifted past the others, toward Iris's bag, without their noticing.

"So are you still going to Dragonspiral Tower?" Trip asked Iris when it became apparent she didn't plan to respond to Georgia's quip.

"Yeah," Iris answered shortly. "I just got delayed." Cilan flinched only inwardly at the obvious reference to him. He unzipped Iris's bag and began the hunt for her handful of Cheri Berries. The search proved itself as a challenge, given he had little light to work with.

"How much would you mind some extra accompaniment?" Trip added carefully, testing the waters. Iris raised an eyebrow and briefly glanced Cilan's way. He didn't look back, but she knew he was listening.

"I already have some," she replied, looking back at Trip. "Cilan is coming with me."

Cilan soon grew exasperated and pulled out his Pokégear. The signal was dead and had been for days in that wilderness, but the flashlight function still worked. He switched it on and peered inside her bag. What he found was not quite what he expected.

"I figured," Trip said coolly. "That's why I said extra."

Iris waited, as if to give it serious consideration, as if to make it seem it would be generous of her to let him come.

"I wouldn't mind," she eventually answered with the same nonchalance.

Drayden's letter was apparently not the only memento Iris kept in her bag. Cilan lifted out an old, faded photograph depicting a young Iris—no more than 4 or 5 years old—and whom he was certain were her parents. He was only sure of it because of the striking resemblances she bore from both of them: She shared her father's rich skin color and dark, thick hair, but the structure of her face was a near-perfect replica of her mother's. Iris looked more like her mother actually, in Cilan's opinion at least. There was a similar, warm glow that seemed to emanate from both of them, and yet, there was something fierce in their expressions, in their eyes in particular. Her mother's irises were a bold crimson, and Iris presented a similar color alloyed by her father's gentler brown.

"W-Wait," Burgundy interjected suddenly, nervously. "You're going to go all the way to Dragonspiral Tower with them?"

"What does it matter to you?" Trip asked flatly.

"Aren't you still going to the Truth Seekers?" Burgundy pressed worriedly.

"Later." Trip waved it off. Burgundy looked even more apprehensive at that and cast Georgia a troubled glance. Georgia sighed in response and straightened up.

"Well, maybe we ought to go with you, too," she started casually. "I'm interested to see you put those Dragon-training skills of yours to use. And if you fail, there'll be a Dragon Buster around to take care of business."

Iris let out a sarcastic kind of laugh that resembled a scoff, saying, "That's good, I guess."

Cilan put away the photo, realizing he was being intrusive. He found the Cheri berries and stood up, turning back around to see that Iris was now watching him, looking at least somewhat impressed.

* * *

Black City, it turned out, was only a stone's throw away from their camp site. Early the following morning, with Cilan in a better condition, they departed for the city and were there in under two hours. Cilan was quickly able to see a doctor—unsurprisingly, she didn't have too many appointments now—who confirmed what they already knew: He had sustained a minor concussion. The doctor's recommendations were to cease travel until he had fully recovered—advice Cilan refused to follow **—** and to avoid any further blows to the head—advice Cilan would love to follow were it completely under his control.

"We can leave today," Cilan informed Iris and Trip, sitting at a booth in the Pokémon Center's cafeteria whilst Burgundy and Georgia were off serving themselves breakfast. There was television mounted above them, with a newscaster providing some nice background noise. "There's no sense in staying here in any longer."

"But Cilan," Iris started lightly in a rather mocking tone, "the doctor said..."

"I'll be fine," Cilan assured her. Iris rolled her eyes and sunk into her seat. Either the farce had gone straight over his head or he was feigning ignorance.

"We should get you some painkillers for the road at least," Trip suggested. "It's not a bad idea to stock up on some things anyway. We don't know what supplies are going to look like in other cities and towns the worse things get around here."

"That's true," Cilan conceded.

"I can go now," Trip said, rising to his feet. "You stay here and eat."

"What about you?" Cilan asked.

"I'll just get something at the store. It's fine." With that, Trip slid away from his companions and was on his way out the door, leaving Cilan and Iris alone. A short period of silence followed, and then Cilan cleared his throat.

"Do you want me to get you anything to eat?" he asked.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," she muttered.

"It's not healthy to skip—" He stopped short, seeing her glare. "Sorry." He scuttled off in what could be read as mild embarrassment. Georgia returned to the table as soon as he had gone, and she laid a cup of coffee in front of Iris—a peace offering.

"I don't know if you actually like coffee, but here," Georgia said.

Iris blinked. She didn't.

"Thanks," she said anyway, and Georgia nodded before sliding into the seat across from her.

Another strained silence followed. Then, Georgia said, "I'm sorry."

Iris raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"I didn't really think about how hard of a time you must be having," Georgia answered. "Drayden's dead. We're at war. And you're planning on going up against a Pokémon that could very well burn you to a crisp if you can't distinguish yourself as a more capable Dragon Master than Drayden, who had to have—what—at least 40 years experience on you?" She said this all pretty casually, and Iris frowned in response. "Sorry, am I being too forward?" Georgia went on. "Well, regardless, the rest of us piling on you didn't really help the situation, so I'm sorry."

Iris would never have expected an apology. She wasn't even looking for one in particular, but having it brought a sense of relief, and just like that, her opinion of Georgia experienced a massive shift toward a positive end.

"Thank you," Iris said sincerely.

Georgia folded her arms and narrowed her eyes somewhat then, looking at Iris closely.

"You're one of them aren't you?" she asked, changing the subject. Iris didn't respond, but the look she gave was enough to signal that Georgia needed to elaborate. "I grew up in Icirrus City. I've known about Dragonspiral Tower all my life, and yet, I've never been there because it's a protected area—it's sacred to the Draconid of Unova." Iris tensed at the mention. "I'm actually surprised I didn't realize it before. You've kind of got the eyes for it, and The Village of Dragons hosts one of the oldest surviving clans."

Iris didn't answer right away. In fact, before she could, Burgundy returned to the table as well.

"They ran out of waffles—can you believe that?" Realizing both Iris and Georgia were staring, she stopped, blinking. " _Ai-je interrompu quelque chose_?"

Iris slid on her backpack.

"I'm going to catch up with Trip," she announced before leaving. As she was, Georgia directed her gaze straight at Burgundy in a glare.

"What?" Burgundy asked, exasperated. "What did I do?"

* * *

Despite being a huge metropolis with large skyscrapers and modern living, Black City was as much a ghost town as Striaton City. This was only one reason why it ended up being easy for Iris to find Trip again. The other was that he actually hadn't ended up going far at all.

She found him standing in front of a downed communication tower en route to the local PokéMart. It wasn't until she reached his side that she realized his camera—a small digital one with a teal shell—was out, and its lens was zoomed in on the deft strokes of blue paint in the shape of a lightning bolt on the tower's side. Iris drew in a long breath, as if to say something, but Trip actually ended up being the first to speak.

"It's weird," he remarked thoughtfully, though tiredly. He didn't seem to mind her being there. "They usually go after places that have symbolic meaning." He snapped a few pictures then slipped the camera into his bag and continued on his way. Iris followed.

"Why are you taking photos?" she questioned. He shrugged.

"Someone has to keep a record of what happens," he replied. "I figure I'm as good as anyone."

Iris pursed her lips, then asked, "Is that why you wanted to come with us to Dragonspiral?"

"I'm seeking truth, just like everyone else," Trip answered. "If that's with you, then it's with you. If it's with the Truth Seekers, then it's with the Truth Seekers."

It was unsatisfying response, but Iris didn't press the matter further. They soon arrived at the doors of the PokéMart. Inside, it became apparent Trip's concerns about diminishing stocks were legitimate: It wasn't quite barren yet, but it felt more sparse than any PokéMart in which she had ever set foot. Trip picked up a basket and immediately went to the potions aisle. He practically emptied an entire shelf with one sweep of his arm into the basket.

Iris decided to poke around and see if there was anything she could find that might be of use to her on their journey. She found herself in the Pokéball aisle and discovered that everything in it was on sale. She supposed catching Pokémon was not popular at a time like this. Most everyone was either fleeing the country and therefore not concerned with the sport, while Team Plasma was preaching the evils of Pokémon training at every opportunity—and if there wasn't an opportunity available, they'd be happy to make one themselves.

She picked up an Ultra Ball. Even at a reduced price, it cost almost all of what she had.

"Hey." Iris snapped her head up to look at Trip. He continued, "I'm ready to go. Is there anything you're getting?"

"Already? That was quick. Did you even get some stuff for Cilan?" Iris questioned, and he nodded. Iris looked down at the Ultra Ball again, turning it over in her hand. "Yeah—yeah, there's one thing I want."

* * *

Something was different when they returned to the Pokémon Center. Although it was low-occupied and rather quiet to begin with, the place was now eerily silent save the hum of the one working television, around which everyone—Nurse Joy, Audino, the one cafeteria worker, their own companions, and a small handful of other trainers—was gathered. Trip and Iris exchanged uneasy glances before hurrying to see what had them so captivated.

The news anchor was no longer on the screen, or rather, she wasn't the only one of the screen. The screen flickered between her—whose alarmed expression was enough to say something was very wrong—and a different, weaker feed hampered by static. Finally, the intrusive feed overpowered the main broadcast, and there in front of an amateur camera sat an aging, green-haired male with a dark coat hanging from his shoulders. His right eye was a heinously bright red, while his left was concealed under an eyepatch with a black outline and red center, mirroring the other eye.

"What's going on?" Iris started, but she was quickly and harshly shushed by a brunette trainer standing next to her. Iris glowered at her, but when the rogue broadcast began, she jerked her head back toward the screen and no longer cared to give the trainer another thought.

" _Good morning Unova._ " The man's voice was low but regal, and it sent a chill through Iris. " _Allow me to introduce myself: I am Ghetsis, the leader of Team Plasma._ " There was an anxious and desperate hum among the Center's audience, but this time, it was Iris who hushed them.

" _I'm speaking with you today on a very important matter. My organization has been misrepresented as a vile and cruel one which seeks to destroy Unova,_ " Ghetsis continued. " _This is simply not true. You and I, my dear viewers, have more in common than you may believe. I have a passionate love for this country, its people, and for its Pokémon. I seek nothing more than to create a more ideal Unova, one in which Pokémon and we humans are equal and live in peace._ "

Iris stared directly into his eyes, as if he could do the same. She closed her hands into fists.

" _I know many of you are seeking the truth—_ " Half of the audience members jolted. The reference was obvious. "— _and I can assure you that we can offer it. The League has deceived you. It has taught you to believe_ _we humans and Pokémon are partners that have come to live together because we want and need each other. However, is that really the truth? Have you ever considered that perhaps we humans only assume that this is the truth? Pokémon are subject to the selfish commands of Trainers. They get pushed around when they are our 'partners' at work. Can anyone say with confidence that there is no truth in what I'm saying?_ "

Burgundy clutched onto Georgia's upper arm, digging in her nails into the Dragon Buster's sleeve.

" _Now, my dear viewers, Pokémon are different from humans. They are living beings that contain unknown potential. They are living beings from whom we humans have much to learn. Tell me, what is our responsibility toward these wonderful beings called Pokémon? I'll tell you: It is to liberate them, to free them from our baneful grasp. Then, and only then, will humans and Pokémon truly be equals._ "

Iris's hands were closed so tightly together that it nearly hurt. Cilan could sense the tension, and, casting her a quick sideways glance, reached out to touch the inside of her wrist. Iris let out a sudden, barely audible breath, now grounded. She loosened her hands again, but the rest of her remained stiff.

" _I speak now directly to Champion Alder._ " Ghetsis's polite tone suddenly faded, leaving behind a harsher, more grated sound. " _Only you have the power to end this conflict peacefully: Step down from your position and end this tyranny against Pokémon. This is your final opportunity to redeem yourself and recompense for at least a fraction of the sins you have committed. Know this: If you refuse to do right by your country and its inhabitants, there will be fatal consequences._ " A pause. " _I end my words here today by imploring all of you to consider the relationship between people and Pokémon... and the correct way to proceed. We sincerely appreciate your attention._ "

The feed ended, and there appeared the utterly horrified face of the anchor on the screen again.

"That was a threat," Georgia said quickly, bluntly, looking at the others.

"A baseless one," Trip dismissed. "I don't know how Team Plasma could ever hope to take on the League when it's packed with Unova's most elite trainers."

Iris had nothing to say of the broadcast, but it was clear from her clenched jaw and hard gaze that there was plenty she thought of it. She brushed her hand through her long hair and looked at the others.

"We should go," she said flatly, quietly. There were some nods of agreement, and they dispersed to gather their things for a quick exit. Iris readjusted her backpack, waiting. Her gaze briefly caught that of the brunette who had hushed her earlier. She was at a different table in the cafeteria, and she, too, was packing up to leave.

* * *

A low growl emerged from the back of Burgundy's throat as the teeth of her hairbrush got caught in her curls—again. She was sitting atop her sleeping bag, dressed down for the evening, as was most everyone else. It was late by then, and everyone had rolled out their beds around the fire. According to Trip's watch—their only reliable source of time since their technology never seemed to work outside cities and towns anymore—it was nearly 11 p.m. They had been traveling all day and had travelled far since leaving Black City that afternoon.

Georgia watched Burgundy struggle with the brush for a moment before rolling her eyes and moving to the connoisseuse's sleeping bag to help her out. Georgia flicked away Burgundy's hand and took control of the handle herself to finish the job. Iris watched them without comment for a moment before redirecting her gaze toward Cilan, who was still in his normal wear and had just pulled his pajamas out of his bag.

"I need to change," he announced to the others, standing up. "I'll be back in a couple minutes."

He received stares and nods of acknowledgement from his companions. Yet, Iris lowered the hands upon which her chin was resting and asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Cilan assured her. Trip flicked his eyes between the two, then also pulled a T-shirt from his backpack.

"I need to change, too," he said, also standing, "so don't worry, if he collapses, I'll be nearby, unable to do anything about it."

Iris cracked a now-rare smile and almost laughed. "Thanks, Trip," she dryly said. Cilan smiled, too, before the two headed off together. Iris watched them carefully until they disappeared, unaware that she, herself, was being watched.

Georgia finished with Burgundy's hair before flopping back onto her sleeping bag and, with a lopsided grin, asked, "So what's the deal with you and Cilan anyway?"

Iris glanced at her rival, eyebrows raised. "What's the deal with you and Burgundy?" she threw back. There was no indication she was flustered by the direction of the conversation, but the same couldn't be said for Burgundy.

" _Excusez-moi_?" the connoisseuse blustered. "And just what do you mean to imply by _that_?"

Georgia was unfazed, too. Rather, her smile only widened, and she said, "Don't avoid the question. Dragonspiral Tower is a long, long way away from Striaton City."

"What about it?" Iris said coolly.

"You said you overshot your destination to go to Striaton City with Cilan," Georgia recalled. "That is not overshooting your direction. That is heading in the completely wrong direction. By going with Cilan, you had to have extended your journey by at least a month."

Iris scoffed, unzipped her sleeping bag, and slid inside. There wasn't so much ridicule in her scoff as perhaps she intended, though. Something about what Georgia had said had muddled her derision, and she almost looked sad.

"I know," Iris dismissed. "Believe me, I've been counting the days."

"So why'd you do it?" Georgia pressed on, refusing to lessen the taunt. "Were you just procrastinating facing Reshiram because you're scared? Or were you just wanting to make sure your favorite A-Class made it home safely?" Iris looked annoyed now, and Georgia finished, "I'm leaning toward the latter. I know a lovers' spat when I see one. Yours was a particularly nasty one, but still."

Iris pulled her long hair out from under her.

"Maybe it's both," she said. She still didn't sound dejected, but she'd lost her edge. It was then that Georgia deflated, and she pursed her lips, dismayed by the morose turn of the conversation. Burgundy was still sour over Iris's innuendo a couple minutes earlier, but the brusque comment was enough to visibly bother her, too.

"You know, you now have a way of sucking the fun out of teasing," Georgia said flatly. "It wasn't always that way."

Something about that statement must have inspired an inhumed more brassy, more sprightly part of Iris—a part of her they knew well five years ago—to breathe again. She flashed Georgia a familiar smirk and said, "Sorry. I guess I grew up while you stayed a little kid."

Georgia was initially surprised by this response, but also eventually smirked and said, "That's more like it."

Silence fell, but the atmosphere had changed. Georgia settled into her sleeping bag too whilst Iris readjusted herself, trying to get more comfortable. She folded her hands on top of her chest and stared up at the black, star-speckled sky above. Since it was summer, the constellation Léixīlāmu—the white fire dragon—was visible in the sky. She could pick it out easily.

"... I didn't know you were from Icirrus City," Iris said suddenly, as if she'd only just remembered. Georgia turned her head toward her.

"Well, it's not like we've ever played 20 questions," she quipped. A pause, another smirk, and then she slowly and humorously drolled, "Do you want to play 20 questions?"

"Not really." Iris's lips twitched into a smile regardless. "I guess we don't know that much about each other, though." Another pause. Remembering Georgia wasn't the only one there, Iris lolled her head toward Burgundy and added, "You, too."

Burgundy glowered at her before pointedly turning away. Iris stared blankly at the back of her shoulders before glancing toward Georgia again, whose lips had parted with the ghost of a laugh.

Cilan and Trip returned shortly thereafter, and Cilan picked a pail of water nearly the fire and, looking toward the others, asked, "Any opposition to putting this out?"

"Be my guest," Burgundy muttered. Cilan was unsure of what to make of that response—whether she really was offering her assent or passive aggressively denying it—so he held the pail in suspension for a moment before Georgia eventually seconded he put it out. The flames sizzled aloud as they died and their spirits rose toward the sky.

Silence accompanied the newfound darkness, save the rustling of nylon as Cilan and Trip got settled. Iris breathed in the warm, slightly smoky air and closed her eyes, intending to quickly go to sleep. A voice—quiet as it was—called her back into consciousness.

"It's gonna be weird going back," Georgia whispered. "I thought I left for good. When things started getting bad, I knew I couldn't stay."

Everyone heard, though no one was quite sure they were supposed to. It was reflective, personal, something that was completely unexpected coming from Georgia. They waited though, primarily because they wanted to see if she would say anything further. When she didn't, Iris cleared her throat and asked, "How come?"

"It didn't feel like home anymore." It was not Georgia who answered, but Trip. Surprised glances were cast his way, but his eyes were tethered to the stars.

"... Yeah, that," Georgia eventually said. She sighed before adding, "Nothing's the same anymore." A pause. "Except maybe this—" She extended her arms toward the sky. "—traveling, going on an 'adventure' with your Pokémon and maybe some tolerable company." Burgundy's breath became more shallow at the mention of Pokémon. Georgia dropped her hands down again and finished, "I guess that's the closest thing we've got to home now." A beat of silence followed, and then she laughed, "Arceus, that was cheesy. I'm definitely tired. Okay, I'm going to sleep now. Good night."

A couple others echoed her good night—namely Cilan and Burgundy, with different intonations and volumes. Iris stared at Georgia for a long while though, replaying the conversation—all its lines with all its players—in her head. She turned to look at Trip next, then Burgundy, and finally Cilan. It hadn't occurred to her before, but there was one experience they shared: They had all lost their home. And maybe, Iris thought as she looked back up at Léixīlāmu, they were forging a new one there, in that moment.

"Good night," she added in a whisper, one no one could hear. She closed her lips into a smile and shut her eyes.


	6. What Unites

**Chapter VI: What Unites**

 _The genesis of the Unova Pokémon League was established in 1776. It wasn't called the Pokémon League back then—the official name and organization came in 1920—and it looked a lot different than it does today. For one, Pokéballs didn't exist back then; the trainer terminology and standard battle formats didn't exist either, but it was definitely the beginning of the league and what we call modern Unova._

 _A key difference between old Unova and modern Unova is the relationship with Pokémon. Old Unova was built around Pokémon; modern Unova was built on Pokémon, with Pokémon. Power was structured according to the people who could command and best and strongest Pokémon with the most skill. In that sense, Vero Albinus was Unova's first Champion._

 _Alder Ray was the 11th official Champion of the Unova Pokémon League, and he was the longest-standing by a very wide margin at 27 years. His leadership marked not only a change in the culture of Pokémon training, but also a change in social equality among both Unova's people and Pokémon. It was a change I never personally saw—I was born almost a decade after he took the Champion seat—but as a child, I met him myself. He traveled often, and in his travels, he would speak of how he had striven for power in his youth, as so many trainers did and still do, and how it ultimately brought him no satisfaction. Then when his Pokémon partner died, he started to question more seriously his own motivations and human relationships with Pokémon. In time, he eventually came to the conclusion that raising Pokémon was not about gaining power for yourself, but bettering the world and enjoying new experiences together with your Pokémon._

 _His stance on the ideal relationship between Pokémon and people—as partnership rather than ownership—and the efforts he made to redress the country's historical wrongdoings won over many of those previously alienated and marginalized by the League, even if it was with reservations. Still, he was one of Unova's most beloved Champions, and it was not undeserved. But in the end, I guess he wasn't considered radical enough._

* * *

Iris.

The name was printed neatly on the envelope laid directly in front of Alder. He had stared at it for a while, puzzled by its presence, but he didn't reach for it. Then, he slowly raised his eyes toward the man in front of him, a long-time friend and perpetual disputant: Drayden.

"What's this for?" Alder asked. He spoke seriously, gravely, as would be expected of him. Drayden would not visit unannounced if it were not for an important reason; no, it had to be more than important. Drayden would not visit at all if it weren't important.

Drayden cleared his throat.

"I'm leaving my post at the Opelucid Gym," he said, and Alder's brow shot up.

"Is this a protest?" he asked. He half-suspected based on Drayden's austere expression and speech that he was upset by the budding re-emergence of the Truth Seekers. Surely he had heard something of it by then. Alder continued, "Contrary to what you may believe, restoring the Truth Seekers was not my charge."

Drayden's gaze narrowed, not quite convinced, but he corrected, "It's not a protest. My hope is this will be a temporary leave. Iris—" He made a small gesture to the letter. "—is my protégé and will be acting as gym leader in my stead. If it turns out it is a permanent leave, I want you to ensure that letter makes its way to her."

His wording unsettled Alder. The Champion's breath slowed, and his voice dropped lower as he said, "What do you know? What's the reasoning behind this?"

"You don't need to know," Drayden said bluntly. "All I ask is you fulfill this simple request should you need to."

Alder let out a short, harsh-sounding chuckle. "How will I know if I need to?" he asked.

"You'll know." Drayden turned to leave, but Alder furrowed his brow.

"You wait," he said suddenly. "I have not yet agreed to do this for you." Drayden stopped, and Alder rose to his feet with the letter now in hand. He continued, "I need to know what is inside this letter. I need to know where you're going." Drayden remained tight-lipped. Alder fell back with a frown. "I was not your first choice for this, was I?"

The corner of Drayden's mouth twitched.

"No," he admitted. Alder sighed and dropped the letter on his desk again.

"If your mother refused, why should I agree?" he half-demanded. "Is this about Team Plasma capturing Zekrom? Is that what you intend to withhold from me? I already know of it."

Drayden shifted somewhat. There was a flash of thought in his eyes and another twitch at his mouth. Alder watched him expectantly before Drayden finally answered, "Yes, that was what I intended to withhold." He said it flatly; there was no sense of resignation in it, and it caused Alder to let out one of his famous, full laughs. Drayden gave him an odd look.

"Oh, Drayden, we have been friends for far too long," Alder said after regathering himself. "You're lying. There's more. You know where to find Reshiram, don't you?"

A smile finally arrived, and Drayden said, "You are always more astute than I estimate." Alder heard resignation's ring then and knew he was, finally, hearing the truth. His victorious smile was fleeting, however; it quickly diminished, and Alder settled himself back into his seat.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you and err on the side of your mother," he said. "I will not condemn you and a teenage girl to death." Alder touched the edge of the letter, adding, "This is a torch—something you intend to pass on if you fail."

"You have such a lack of faith in me."

" _I_ do? Only because you have a lack of faith in yourself," Alder retorted.

"I'm aware of the risks I'm taking, and I'm building a safety net," Drayden corrected. "I intend to protect my country, and I intend to protect Iris."

"Let us help you then," Alder proposed.

"I thought you said the Truth Seekers were not your charge?" Drayden said dryly. Alder started at that, but before he could say anything, Drayden closed his eyes and added, "Regardless, my answer is no."

Alder sighed heavily. "I do understand your hesitations—" Drayden cut in to say he had no hesitations, but Alder pressed on over him. "—The Truth Seekers do not have a clean history, especially in regards to your people. Believe me, I know. I married one of your historians. Still, these new Truth Seekers only seek to restore peace, not to strongarm our dissenters into compliance. And, they are under a new leader whom I—"

"—Is Team Plasma not a dissenter?" Drayden cut him off a second time. He shook his head, then changed the subject, saying, "Alder, you have always been good to us. You are perhaps the one Champion to afford us any respect, and perhaps I give you too much credit and should offer it to your late wife. Still, it is why we are friends, and it is why I am a gym leader. Nevertheless, I do not trust the Truth Seekers, and I will not accept their help and risk compromising the better interests of all of Unova in exchange for the benefit of even the majority. I cringe to think what a group with such a history could do with the power of Reshiram in their control."

There was no further argument to be made in that regard—at least, not one that Alder reasonably foresaw Drayden acquiescing to. But, he did intend to end to make a final play.

"I will not do this for you then," Alder said, nodding to the letter. "I fail to see how, if you do not succeed, you expect a young girl to do better." He stood up with the letter, rounded his desk, and forcibly pressed it back into Drayden's hand. "I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else." Alder moved forward to show out Drayden, but the Dragon Master did not follow.

"That move did not work on Nadie and Mukul Ajagara, nor will it work on me," Drayden said suddenly. Alder paused and glanced back at him, perplexed as to what he meant. "You see, many years ago, when Unova faced a crisis nearly as deadly as this one—you remember, you were Champion then, too—a young couple approached my mother and asked to place their child in her care while they confronted that crisis with the intention of putting an end to it. She refused, believing they would be out of options and would stand down, therefore saving three lives. She underestimated the love they have for this country and the love they had for that little girl—for if Unova fell, their daughter would be deprived of both her past and her future." Alder slowly turned to face Drayden again, who added with finality, "You underestimate me, too."

"You've told me this story before," Alder said. "I recognize those names. Are they the ones who—?"

"—Yes." Drayden nodded.

" _Iris_ is their daughter?"

"And now the sole lineal descendant of Taima," Drayden affirmed. Alder stared. He ambled back into the center of the room and sank onto a chair, pressing a hand against his face and lowering his head with heavy thought. Drayden waited a moment, giving Alder space to think, before leaning down at his side and holding out the letter again. Alder didn't take it quite yet, but he flicked his eyes upward.

"I want to save Iris from her parents' fate," Drayden said, "but I believe that if I fail, she can convince Reshiram, even if at the cost of her own life. If that's the case, then you and your Truth Seekers will get exactly what you want."

Alder pressed a closed fist to his mouth, sucking in his breath as he did. Then, he accepted the letter.

Two weeks later, an Altaria—Drayden's Altaria—came to Alder's window, staining the sill with her precious tears as she held out a singed, emerald bolo tie—Drayden's tie—and Alder accepted it with tears of his own. And _that_ was two months ago. The Altaria, now his, sat perched at the end of his desk, asleep. The window was still open from her arrival, and in came a gentle summer breeze from the eerily quiet morning. Alder wondered where Iris was now—he hadn't heard a single thing of her in months, despite the indirect effort he made to bring her where Drayden refused to go—and he wondered if he would ever hear the results of her mission.

The ghosts of the conversation walked through him upon his arrival. Oddly, Alder felt closer to Drayden than he ever had since his death, and suddenly, he also felt he needed to call together his Elite Four members and warn them they needed to be on high alert.

* * *

Iris drew her hands back through her long hair and pulled it into the makings of a ponytail. She stood alone in front of the vanity with a hair tie gently clenched between her teeth, and she stared directly into her reflection's auburn eyes as if she monitoring it for any slight break in its firm expression, its rigid, unfeeling gaze. She pulled the hair tie onto her wrist and then stretched it through her thick locks until she had satisfactorily removed all obstructions from her line of vision.

Her hand fell to the table, touching the edges of Drayden's letter and the photograph of her family. They laid on top of each other with the corner of her mother's face peeking out from beneath the faded gray of the lined paper. She skimmed Drayden's final words to her again and wondered what he had felt when he was in her position nearly three months earlier: Was he afraid? Did he feel the phantom embers burning his skin too, or had he hardened himself to those anticipative fears? Did he think of her, or did he think of Unova when faced with the prospect of death at the hands of old legends?

She pushed aside the letter and revealed the full photograph of her and her parents. She thought about them, too. What would they think of all of this? She wasn't sure she could be a good judge. Her memories of them had faded with time, and she couldn't bring herself to believe they would supportive. There was one thing she did know though: Drayden and her parents shared something in common, and that was that they both had a legacy to leave behind in the form of her.

Iris had no legacy. After her, there was no one left who could take up her charge with the same intentions and hope to succeed. She had ceded to a compromise that betrayed her principles, but at least it was to someone whom she could trust her story.

Iris pulled out the top drawer in the vanity and slipped the photo of her parents and Drayden's letter inside. Then, she reached for a fresh envelope on her bed, signed and sealed, and placed it in there too.

The door creaked open and Iris jolted before turning sharply on her heel to see the person behind her: Cilan. There was a question on his lips, but it fell silent the moment he saw her. She looked different: stiffer, older perhaps. Her eyes, while always having a reddish tint, appeared especially dark with crimson shades and a piercing gaze then.

"What is it?" she asked, eventually growing unsettled by his silence.

"Nothing." Cilan quickly shook his head. "... Are you letting us come with you?"

Iris folded her arms into her shirt.

"That was the deal, wasn't it?" she said before brushing past him and heading out the door. Cilan watched her leave with a nonplussed expression before shutting the door and following. They progressed down the quiet hallway—it was always so strange staying in a near-empty Pokémon Center when they were familiarly known for bustling with colorful traveling trainers and their Pokémon—when the only other trainer staying in the Pokémon Center left her room and locked the door behind her. Iris had already passed by, but the brunette trainer turned her gaze and stared Cilan down as he moved past her. Cilan didn't let it bother him; everyone was suspicious of each other.

Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip were already waiting downstairs in the lobby. As soon as Iris and Cilan met them, none wasted any time with morning pleasantries.

"So Dragonspiral Tower is about two miles northwest of the edge of the city," Georgia started immediately. "We can be there in under an hour on foot." Iris nodded to her but said nothing in response.

"So how are you planning on going about this?" Burgundy then added on, wringing her hands together. "How are—we—going about this?"

Iris wetted her lips before admitting, "I'm not sure." This drew blank stares. Iris had proven she wasn't exactly a meticulous planner—that was Cilan's specialty; Iris, on the other hand, was the type to run into burning buildings—but they had assumed, perhaps wrongfully so, that she would have put at least some thought into what undoubtedly was the most dangerous undertaking of her life.

"You're not... sure?" Trip repeated incredulously.

"No," Iris said plainly, shaking her head.

"This is really not something you can chance without a plan," Cilan said, both unimpressed and worried.

"There's nothing I can plan for right now," Iris retorted, already exasperated by Cilan's _tone_. "I have to be close enough to read Reshiram's heart before I can decide what to do." This, too, elicited some peculiar looks that were exchanged among one another. They believed she was talking about reading his heart in some abstract, flimsy sense, and so they felt even less assured than before. Iris continued, "And if you want me to be honest, there's no sense in you coming. There's nothing you can do to help me, and all you'd be doing is putting yourselves in the line of fire."

Cilan protested that, too.

"We can help," he insisted. "Five is better than one."

Iris sucked in her breath.

"If you saw things the way I did, you'd think one is better than five," she said with quiet restraint. She then abruptly turned away from them and toward the door. "It's not like I have any real power to stop you, though. Let's go."

Iris started away, but Burgundy slung her weight to her left hip and, folding her arms, said, "I don't know if I really _want_ to go if you've got nothing in mind for taking on Reshiram."

"Then _stay_ ," Iris threw back with a short glance over her shoulder. "You've got no Pokémon of your own anyway." She went on through the doors, and Burgundy bristled. Cilan frowned and gently laid a hand on Burgundy's shoulder.

"Maybe she's—" he began carefully.

"—No." Burgundy immediately brushed his hand away. "I'm going. Come on."

* * *

The rest of the group finally caught up with Iris at the edge of the city. She hadn't waited for them. She hadn't even slowed down to give them a decent chance at finding her again, as though she had wanted to be lost. Perhaps it was a fair assessment, given how she had immediately tensed up when she heard one of them call her name at the city's limit, and the four joined her.

"You're certainly in a hurry, aren't you?" Trip half-grumbled, meeting one of her open sides. Iris didn't respond, only looking annoyed.

"Yes, Iris," Cilan added quickly, a little breathlessly. "Nothing good ever comes of rushing into things. We should maybe wait a day—and if that's too much for you, then at least an _hour_ —to unify ourselves and figure out how we want to handle Reshiram."

"I already told you," Iris huffed, folding her arms. She still didn't stop. "There's no planning for this. And I've already put it off long enough."

"Yeah, Cilan, you ought to know all about that," Georgia said wryly.

Iris became even more agitated at that remark and sharply interjected, "Can we not right now?"

Georgia appeared disaffected by her reproval but was wise enough to know not to tease the matter further. Cilan, in fact, was looking a little uncomfortable, but he turned his gaze back to Iris as they crossed into the forested area. Iris could feel his eyes on her and was aware he was still trying to think of some way he could stop her short of physical force, and knowing that only made her more determined not to stop—for better or for worse.

Georgia stepped ahead of the group a little to better direct them toward Dragonspiral, and Iris let her.

"So have you ever been to Dragonspiral Tower?" the Icirrus native asked.

"No," Iris replied, then admitted, "but I've always wanted to." She hesitated before adding, "Drayden wanted to take me someday. He believed it was important I visit it." There was always a distinct sense of longing when she mentioned Drayden. Cilan frowned; he especially must have been at the forefront of her mind that morning. That, he at least, was assured of. He couldn't really be sure what was truly going through her head though, try as he might to figure it out.

"I'm surprised I've never heard of this place before," Burgundy said thoughtlessly. "It's some remnant of old Unova, isn't it? A temple? It sounds like it'd be a tourist trap here." Cilan flinched, thinking it was a little crass, but Iris didn't react.

"I think it once was," Trip recalled. "Alder shut that down and brought it under the League's protection 20-something years ago."

"Oh, right, because it belongs to the... Draconid?" She was only questioning the correct pronunciation. Iris, however, misinterpreted the inquiry as a need to know what the tribe even was, and finally, she provided an answer.

"They're the indigenous people of Unova," Iris said evenly, drawing some surprised looks from her companions. "They lived in peace with the Aboriginal Dragon in Dragonspiral Tower—at least, they did until the Truth Seekers came."

The surprise transformed to confusion and then unease. Iris seemed to realize she had said more than she wanted to and was keeping her gaze straightforward, despite Cilan's efforts to catch her eyes. Georgia and Burgundy exchanged perturbed gazes while Trip frowned. Everyone wanted to ask for more—she still hadn't really discussed her deep-seated contempt for the Truth Seekers, but her response brought them closer to maybe it figuring out—yet no one could bring themselves to change their thoughts into words.

There was silence for a while. Then they came to a chain-link fence with a rusting white sign posted on it: "PLEASE KEEP OUT. This area is under the Unova Pokémon League's protection by Executive Order 1872."

"So—" Cilan started, but before he could say a word further, Iris suddenly jumped onto the fence and nimbly climbed to the top before landing on the other side. She turned and looked expectantly at the others, never saying anything, but it was evident in that look what they were supposed to do. Georgia followed Iris's lead first with relative ease, then it was Trip and Cilan. Burgundy struggled a little more than the others, but they helped her over, and eventually, they had all passed the sole legal hurdle that separated the modern world from one of the few and final mausoleums for old Unova.

"Some protection, huh?" Georgia muttered sarcastically to Iris as they continued on.

Dragonspiral Tower was now overtly visible among the summer greenery. Its derelict, mossy towers rose high above the trees and took the clear azure sky as its backdrop. Seeing it so close now sent a flutter of apprehension through Iris's system. The closer she drew to it, in fact, the more suspense she felt, and she wasn't sure whether this was her own misgivings or if it was a warning from within the tower itself.

The once-public path to the tower was overrun with weeds and wildflowers. Pools of swampy water had gathered in large depressions in the grounds near the temple, and throngs of lilypads had sprouted at the surface. A Lotad peeked at the trainers from the pond as they passed by. Nature, and nothing else, had truly reclaimed the monument.

"It's so grand," Cilan remarked in wonderment as they drew near the entrance. Iris frowned.

"It's in bad condition," she said. Iris lifted a Pokéball from her pocket. "Come out, Fraxure!" The Dragon-type emerged with a throaty groan. Fraxure cast his eyes upon the tower though and seemed humbled, reverent even. Iris gestured for him and the others to follow her. "Come on."

Iris stopped directly in front of the entrance, where two decorated stone slabs had been drawn apart and left in the walls. She laid her against one of them and drew in a shaky breath. There was an echo of a roar in her head, a vision of flames and death, that she was sure no one else heard or saw. She cast her gaze down at the floor: Dirt and leaves had blown into the first several yards of the temple.

"Is it supposed to be open like this?" Burgundy asked. Her voice reverberated off the walls slightly at the mouth of the entrance, making her seem louder and maybe even ruder. Georgia elbowed her in the side, and Burgundy winced and glared before realizing what Georgia was reprimanding her for: Drayden had been the last to visit the temple, and of course, he hadn't been able to close its doors.

Iris moved forward first, and the others followed. The interior of the tower was in even more poor condition than the exterior: On the first floor, a built-in set of stairs descending into the earth had filled with standing water that had an unpleasant smell; no life had taken in this water. Even if there were no longer tourists who could desecrate the monument with their historical voyeurism and disregard for the sacred value of Dragonspiral, the League driving out the capitalist peregrination left no one who could—or would—reasonably care for it. They left this room quickly and began their ascent up the winding staircases for which the tower had earned its name.

Iris kept her hand against the wall as they made their way up, dragging her fingers lightly across the beautiful ancient designs of a tribe hardly known. She felt anger bleeding through these walls, and eventually, she could hear a voice coming through them too. The words she could barely distinguish yet, but one was clear enough: "Leave."

"So where's Reshiram?" Georgia asked eventually, but Iris hushed her. She looked up, trying to listen, trying to make sense of it all, but her anxiety only deepened the harder she tried with no discernible result. Still, she could at least tell the voice was high up.

"He's at the top," she said plainly. Fraxure looked nervously at her; his trainer's unsurety made him anxious, too. Iris barely started again when there was rumble that moved the entire tower. Even though the movement was minimal, it was enough to send the trainers and one Pokémon clinging to the wall. The stairs were already cracked with a few even missing, and the rumble was enough to deprive them of any sense of stability.

As soon as it ended, Cilan swallowed and said, "Iris, I really think we need to take some time to think this through. We don't have any idea what to do here."

"Sure, you don't." Iris pulled herself off the wall and kept going up.

"I'm not sure you really know either," Cilan said doubtfully. Iris's hand touched the wall again and she briefly paused, looking at it.

"I'm figuring it out," she said.

"Then include us," Trip interjected. "Give us some directive."

"There's _nothing_ you can do," Iris emphasized for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"A one-on-one battle with a Legendary Pokémon is a lost battle." Trip continued to push back.

"I'm not going to battle Reshiram," Iris broke out angrily then, and this caught her companions off guard.

"You're... not?" Burgundy questioned.

"No," Iris reaffirmed. "I'm going to talk to him." Another slight rumble sent them to the wall again. The voice was still a jumble of roars and cries Iris simply couldn't understand, but the word "leave" was still clear. She sighed before adding with some sarcasm, "Or try to."

Feeling secure again, Iris started up the stairs once more. Cilan, however, felt his worries double into something closer to panic at her addendum. He quickly started toward her and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to whip around toward him.

"Iris, please," he half-begged, his grip tightening.

"Cilan," Iris began firmly, trying to wriggle her wrist out of his grasp. "You have to let me do this." The others looked on worriedly, now being infected by the same tense fear Cilan was stroking within himself.

"I don't—" He stopped short. What he wanted to say—"I don't want to lose you"—felt too intimate to say in their company. Iris knew it though; he didn't have to say it all for her to already know. Iris's fortitudes fell away, and she wanted to say something to reassure him, but she could force nothing disingenuous to pass her lips then. She looked down, unable to look him in the eye anymore, before wresting her wrist away finally and continuing on. Cilan sucked in his breath and looked back briefly at the others before jerking his head forward again.

They made it to the second floor, which consisted of a series of a old, tall, and thick columns rising from the ground and hitting the ceiling above them. Some of the columns had cracked and fallen, but there was still a clear path to the next staircase. A third rumble came, this stronger than the last.

When it passed, Iris turned to the others and rigidly said, "He's angry. He knows we're here. You all should go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Cilan insisted. If he couldn't get her to leave, then there was certainly no way she could do the same to him.

"Neither am I," Georgia said just as firmly. "I didn't travel for weeks back home so I could put my tail between my legs and run away."

"Same," Trip added. Burgundy didn't say anything, but gave a quick, though still unsure nod, indicating she wasn't willing to leave without the others.

A fourth quake. The pressure of the voice on Iris caused her to start to break down. The situation had turned. Instead of Cilan begging her to come with them to safety, she had now become the beggar.

"Please," she pleaded.

"Iris, this is what we agreed to." Cilan refused to give in.

She looked at him utter reproach then, a frown and a worried crease in her brow painted on her face. There was nothing she could do though, so she turned away and whispered "okay" with resignation before moving across the floor.

The fifth time the tower moved was the strongest yet, and it nearly caused the group to lose its balance. Georgia stumbled across the floor and, in her frustration, broke out, "What is he doing?!" The answer was a cracked head on one of the columns that split from its base and fell—toward Burgundy.

"Fraxure, Dragon Tail!" Iris immediately ordered. The end of Fraxure's leathery tail suddenly glowed blue, and he swung his weight around to break the column head into two, saving Burgundy from being crushed as she fell back with a sound that was a mix of a gasp and a cry. Georgia made a similar noise, followed by her name, before going to help the connoisseuse up.

"This is dangerous." Iris sounded angry now. "You _need_ to leave."

"As if it's any less dangerous for you," Cilan retorted.

"For someone who prides himself on rationality, you're not showing a lot of it right now," Iris hissed. "It is dangerous for me, too, but I'm equipped to handle it in ways you couldn't possibly understand—and it's better I endanger myself alone for this then for all of you to needlessly endanger yourselves too."

"We want to help you," Cilan pressed.

"I don't need your help." Iris wasn't sure how many times she would have to say it before at least one of them started to believe her. "I don't—" Her voice caught in her throat then, seeing them all looking back at her with bright, emotional eyes in that dimming temple. "I don't want to see you—any of you—get hurt."

"You don't think I feel the same about you?" Cilan pressed a hand to his chest. Realizing it was too personal, he quickly amended, "You don't think _we_ feel the same about you?"

"Then leave now, and you won't have to see anything," Iris shot back. Reshiram's next fit immediately followed her words, and it had the magnitude of a genuine earthquake: They were all knocked to the ground, and more of the ancient tower began to fall. At first, nothing presented immediate danger; that is, until a column immediately to their left broke at its base and fell between them. Iris and Fraxure dove forward to avoid it, and the others scuttled back to do the same.

It ended. As soon as the dust cleared, Cilan was on his feet again and running toward the downed column, crying, "Iris! Iris, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she coughed from the other side. She and Fraxure was covered in white, dusty debris, and she imagined everyone else looked about the same. "Is everyone okay over there?"

"Yeah, we're fine." Trip shook the dust from his hair with his hand and, after reaching into his pocket, enlarged a Pokéball. "Back up, Iris. Conkeldurr can smash through this if you give him some time."

They all froze at the word "time." The column was thick and heavy, and it would take "time" to break through it and be reunited. Cilan immediately threw himself against the column again, yelling, "Iris! Iris! Don't go on without us!"

"Iris, don't be stupid," Georgia added on loudly, also throwing herself against the column. There was no reply. Cilan and Georgia exchanged dreaded looks before looking at Burgundy and Trip, who were staring back wide-eyed.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Georgia sputtered angrily at Trip. "Get your Conkeldurr to break through that column— _now_!"

* * *

Iris could move a lot quicker without constantly fighting with Cilan and the others on staying or leaving. She was practically running up the stairs now, knowing her athleticism would allow for it in a way it wouldn't for her companions, and she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. The more heavyset Fraxure didn't have the same privilege; to his credit, he had done well with keeping up with his more nimble trainer, but he was approaching exhaustion. He whined aloud, and Iris received the message, slowing to a stop to give both herself and Fraxure a chance to catch their breaths.

After a moment, Fraxure whined again, and she felt his question nagging at the edge of her mind: _Are you sure about this?_

"Yes, I'm sure," Iris answered him. "I care about them. I have to do what I can to protect them."

A loud roar reverberated off the walls. It was not one Iris heard inside her own head. It was real. It was right there. They were close. Iris looked up and drew in a shaky breath. She wished desperately she could talk to Drayden one more time if for no other reason than to simply ask him what had gone wrong. Where had he failed? What could she possible do better? She didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Repeating it would fail her nation; it would fail her people; it would fail Drayden, the Elder, Shannon, Dragonite, her parents; it would fail Cilan, Georgia, Trip, and Burgundy.

Fraxure let a out a quiet, worried whimper. Iris looked down and stroked his head.

"Stay here," she gently commanded him. "I want you to be safe, too." She opened up bag and started laying out all her Pokéballs, one by one, under Fraxure's large belly: Emolga's, Excadrill's, Gabite's, and Noivern's. The only Pokéballs that remained in her bag were empty. One was the Ultra Ball she had purchased way back in Black City. The other was the one with which Jolon had gifted her in the Village of Dragons.

Iris then pressed her hand to his head, tearfully whispered something to him in a private language, before kissing him atop his head and starting up the stairs again. Fraxure cried for her, but did not move from his station, completely faithful to his trainer's order.

A section of the top room's roof had fallen in and Reshiram stood among the debris of other downed columns in the sunlight, his back turned to Iris. It was an almost serene tableau: The Vast White Pokémon, a symbol of truth in their world, a part of a legend of insuperable significance in her life and the lives of many other Unovans, was standing proud, basking in the summer sun before her very eyes.

She moved surreptitiously in the shadows at first, finding a secure backdrop, before stepping into the light herself.

"Reshiram!" she called out to him, and his fierce blue eyes turned to her immediately. She pressed a hand to her chest and went on, "My name is Iris Ajagara. I'm a Dragon-type trainer, and I'm one of the Draconid. I've come very far to meet you." This introduction did nothing for Reshiram. He bore his teeth and let out a low, guttural growl as his tail turbine lit with flames.

"No, please don't attack!" Iris waved her hand vigorously. "I don't want to fight you. I want to talk, if you'll open yourself up to me."

The turbine stopped, but he let out a roar then. Iris winced and stumbled back, but Reshiram had, nevertheless, opened a sliver of himself to her, and she let herself in—and it was not what she expected. Any sense or meaning she hoped to gain in this opportunity for trust was thrown to wind: Her mind was suddenly filled with a deafening, sharp noise, and she cried out before falling to the ground, clutching her head. She immediately tried to push him out, but Reshiram had a stronghold on her now and wouldn't let go.

So she tried to move forward instead. There was a connection there, and she tried to push the words that usually came to her so easily in these connections past her tongue, but they halted or fell out in a jumbled mess. Reshiram, at least, listened to whatever she could get out, but there came a point where she said something that must have offended his pride, and he roared a second time. The language died in her mouth and left a sour taste.

"Please!" Iris resorted to English again. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know you and Zekrom are meant to start wars, but we can't let this happen again. We have to save him. I can only do it with your help."

The noise sharpened further, and Iris teared up. It was physically painful; her vision was blurring.

"Please!" Iris begged again. "What can I say to convince you?"

He said nothing, and he didn't lessen the severity of the torturous sound. At that point, she half-wished he would fire up his turbine again and put an end to it. Her hands fisted into the end tendrils of her long hair, and she shut her eyes tightly. She then aimlessly groped for something, maybe a rock, or better, she thought, she could dash her own head against the wall and end it herself.

The sharp sound suddenly, inexplicably ended. Iris collapsed against the ground with heavy breathing and choked tears. She couldn't hear anything then, which was why she initially didn't realize that what had ended her agony was Fraxure. He had distracted Reshiram and attacked him with Dragon Rage.

"No! Fraxure, get back!" Her words were slurred; she could barely hear them herself, and she wondered if Fraxure could hear her either because he didn't relent. Fraxure was but a mere nuisance to Reshiram, though. With a quick swipe of his paw, he sent Fraxure into a column, the impact crushing it and billowing a cloud of dust that the Dragon-type disappeared into. Iris cried out for him, but those thoughts were dashed away as Reshiram turned toward her again and fired up his turbine.

Iris looked on with horror, but she didn't have the strength the move. So she resigned to her fate, accepted it, as Reshiram's burning blue eyes burned into her soul, the same way a pair of ominous yellow eyes had permanently imprinted on her memory more than ten years earlier...

She started to lower her head to the ground, but her hearing had returned enough for her to hear Noivern's battle cry. He flew into Reshiram's neck, sinking his teeth in, and Reshiram let out a strangled cry before violently shaking left and right to free himself of the assailant. Noivern was suddenly joined by Iris's other Pokémon: Emolga, Excadrill, and Gabite all joined in her defense.

Fraxure somehow recovered enough to come to his trainer's side. He was badly injured, but he moved his tusks under and lifted her up, urging her that they should escape. Iris nodded at first and held onto his tusks, too weak to stand on her own. She lifted her eyes toward Reshiram again, backlit by the sun and surrounded by four soldiers with their leader's protection at heart.

"Wait..." Iris said hoarsely. She lowered her bag from her shoulder and reached into it, pulling out the Ultra Ball. Something then empowered her to rise to her feet on her own. She stood tall on the battlefield, looking straight at Reshiram, feeling as though her heritage, her ancestry—Drayden, her parents, those who had lived and fought and died before her—was holding her up at the knees. She enlarged the Ultra Ball in her hand.

"Go, Pokéball!" The Ultra Ball flew through the air and tapped Reshiram on the wing. The room was filled with a golden light as Reshiram was immaterialized and drawn into the ball, which then fell and bounced several times against the ground. Iris, along with all her Pokémon, watched it shake violently on the ground as she fell onto Fraxure's support again.

The shaking was lessening. The ball was stabilizing. Iris held her breath.

The Ultra Ball exploded from the inside as Reshiram emerged again and screeched, causing Iris's hands to fly to her ears again. Her defenses fell, and this time, Reshiram vengefully forced his way into her head and restarted the piercing sound that had tormented her to the brink of death. Reshiram's turbine fired up for the upteempth time, and it was quicker-going now that he was angrier. Fraxure curled defensively around his trainer as Reshiram unleashed a Fire Blast that would end both of them.

It didn't. A translucent shield prevented the flames from ever reaching them. Crustle stood in front of them both using Protect, fighting to hold it steady and save all three of them.

"Reshiram!" Cilan's voice felt so far away, but Iris knew it was him. "Don't hurt her! She's not the one you should be fighting."

Iris was overcome with vertigo following her second bout of torture. Her vision was a blur of colors; her ears held a muffled ringing occasionally impeded by the voices of the companions who had come to her rescue. Her thoughts were disarrangement too, but she managed to piece enough of them together to say one last sensible thing.

"Cilan!" she cried out. "There's... There's another Pokéball in my bag!"

She was pressed between two people and lifted up by a pair of arms. She didn't know who—whether it was Cilan or Trip or Georgia or Burgundy, or whatever combination of them, she could never tell—and she couldn't tell anything beyond that, and she receded into memories evoked by the blue eyes that had seared the promise of death into her. Except now they were yellow, and it was not fire that her amber eyes reflected, but a shimmer of ice.

The promise was that her parents would _not_ let anything happen to her. They made that promise to each other and to her, though she was too young to really understand the depth of love in a promise like that. And so when they were faced with the boundary between life and death in a snowstorm that should have ended her long before Reshiram ever had the chance, her parents came together and, pressing her between them, formed a shield that saved her and a nation.

And then a pair of warm, strong arms—Drayden—wretched her from the icy human tomb and lifted her up so a nation would be saved again.

Iris choked out a gasp as she shot up in bed. She was desperately gulping in air, her fingers gripping the sheets of the bed in which she lay—the same bed, she soon figured out, where she had slept in the Icirrus Pokémon Center. She felt sticky, sweaty even, and the back of her hair felt matted from laying in bed for far too long. Of greater concern though was the fact that she was hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, and something else that seemed to be measuring whatever was going on in her head, which was a lot of things.

Iris looked around in total consternation, completely lost as to how to figure out what had happened to her, to distinguish between what was the past and present, between what was reality and an invention of her own mind. She ripped the IV out of her, flinching with the brief sharp pain as she did, then pulled the various other cords off her person. The heart monitor flatlined, but Iris stood up, still very much alive.

She unplugged the monitor, irritated by the noise. She then moved forward, unsure of what to do, where to go, who to find—but she was saved of needing to devise a plan when the door creaked open.

"Iris?" Cilan peered inside, sounding pathetically hopeful. His eyes widened when he saw her standing, staring blankly at him, but standing and staring regardless. "Oh, Iris!" He flew to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. She tensed up at first, and her hands momentarily flailed behind him before find rest on his back. They stayed locked together for a while longer only because Cilan wasn't ready to let go, and even when they did, it was because Iris forced it.

"Cilan... ?" she began, pushing back against his chest to look up at him. "What's going on?" His arms were still encircled above her waist, but he unrolled one arm to gently push back a small collection of long messy locks behind her ear. His tenderness and awe at her being there were frightening for Iris; it suggested that whatever happened to her had been serious, and she was right.

"You've been comatose," he said quietly. "I wanted you to go to a real hospital, but you were ultimately safer here, and Nurse Joy and I and—some others—we made it work."

Iris pulled away from him fully.

"Safer?" she repeated.

His lips twitched into a smile. He leaned toward her and said in a low, excited voice, "We did it."

"'We' did it?" Iris questioned.

"Reshiram is ours." Cilan said it in a thrilled whisper, as if it were a sin to say it any louder. "We captured him. We did it."

Iris's expression fell listless, and then she almost looked distraught. She turned away from him, and Cilan appeared confused. This was not the reaction he expected.

"You," she corrected quietly. "You did it."

He stared, feeling his mouth run dry. She didn't move. He didn't know what to say, and the only thing he could manage was, "You should be resting still."

Iris nodded in a rare move, actually agreeing with him. She wandered back to her bed and fell onto it, though she remained upright. She worked through a few of the tangles in her hair with a hand and then looked up at him, asking, "How long was I out for?"

"Going on four days," Cilan answered. "I wasn't sure—the others, too—we weren't sure if you were going to..." The lingering pain in his voice was hard for Iris to hear, and she didn't know how to deal with it, other than to scoff at it.

"Well, don't get so emotional about it," she dismissed in a strained voice. "I'm fine. I'm alive." The word "alive" felt strange on her tongue. She had half-expected _not_ to live, and if she did, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She pulled her knees closer to her and pushed her face into them. Everything was wrong. Nothing was as it should have been. She had outlined Options A and B in her head but had never considered this: Option C.

Cilan stared for a moment and then pulled out the chair near the vanity and dragged it to her bedside.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"I should be asking you that," Iris mumbled.

"The doctor that was brought here couldn't find anything wrong with you," Cilan elaborated, hoping she would understand what he meant better. "You were comatose but there didn't seem to be any reason behind it."

Iris did understand. She lifted her head again and stretched out her legs, leaning back into her pillow. She had never felt compelled to share the following with Cilan—not alive at least—but her world had been upended the moment she woke up alive and a failure, so it felt like there was nothing to lose.

"I can speak to Dragons," she said.

Cilan blinked.

"What?"

"It's kind of a gift," Iris added, "and a skill I've developed."

"Oh, you mean you can speak to the unique challenges of Dragon-types." Cilan nodded the, the structure and sense of his world unchallenged. "You're a specialist. You know them well." Iris glowered at him.

"No, I mean I can _literally_ speak to Dragons," she corrected. "It's a language."

Cilan appeared thoroughly skeptical and said, "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Just because you've never experienced it doesn't mean it isn't real," Iris snapped, now annoyed. "It would do you good to listen sometimes, Cilan."

He reeled back and, remembering how she had once told him it was hard for her to open up to him because of his tendency to dismiss her, began to look a little sheepish. "Sorry," he apologized. Satisfied and disarmed, Iris settled in to continue.

"Anyway..." she began again. "It _is_ a language, but it's not one many people speak anymore. It's kind of dying out. It's different than speaking just any language. It's not something that humans alone can ever communicate in; it has to be between a Dragon and a human. You have to get the Dragon to open their heart to you, and you have to read it—you have to listen, you have to understand. Then, you can speak to them, too, in a way they can understand." Cilan recalled Iris speaking about a need to "read Reshiram's heart" the morning of their excursion in Dragonspiral Tower, and suddenly he had an idea of the purpose of her tangent.

"I tried to speak to Reshiram," Iris said. "He opened his heart to me a little, and I tried to understand him—I understood a little bit, but it was just like he was screaming in my head. It was too much, and I couldn't get it to stop." Her voice shook slightly at the horrific memory, and Cilan, now receptive to how difficult this was for her to share, reached for her hand and laid his atop it. He mumbled in her name quietly, in a reassuring sort of way, and she continued, "I tried to talk to him then, to tell him Zekrom was in trouble. It only made him angrier though, and the words stopped coming to me, but I couldn't stop him from wreaking havoc inside my head."

Iris closed her eyes. The following was harder to say than anything else.

"Maybe I'm not what I thought I was," she admitted. Her voice had broken into pieces; Cilan had never heard her voice sound that way before. "Maybe I'm not what Drayden thought I was."

She ended there. They sat in silence for a moment, Cilan's hand still on hers as he tried to think of what he could say to her.

"I don't think that's true," he finally began. "You know, I couldn't have captured Reshiram if it weren't for you being there, if it weren't for your Pokémon weakening him first."

Remembrance struck Iris then, and she broke out in a panic, "My Pokémon! Are they okay? I know Fraxure was in pretty bad—"

"—They're fine," Cilan warmly assured her. "They're very worried about you." Iris nodded slowly, calming herself down again.

"Still, that wasn't me," she eventually continued. "They did that on their own to protect me because I ended up being unable to do anything."

"You're their trainer though," Cilan pointed out. "It speaks so highly of you to have those Pokémon—especially that Noivern—so loyal to you that they would fight against a Legendary Pokémon for you."

Iris had nothing to say to that, but she remained unconvinced. She cast her eyes down as though ashamed, and Cilan tried to catch her gaze again to no avail, until she mumbled, "What did you say to him?"

"Hm?" Cilan perked up.

"There had to have been something you said to him that convinced him," Iris persisted. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but... It was not a matter of 'weakening' Reshiram and then capturing him. You had to have said something that would have convinced him. You had to say something that would cause him to defer to you. What was it? How did you know?"

Cilan sucked in his breath and then exhaled slowly.

"I'm a Pokémon Connoisseur," he said plainly. "I wouldn't say we can speak a private language with Pokémon, but we are trained to evaluate their personalities, abilities, and interests. I thought about what would turn him away from attacking you and bring him to our side. I figured Zekrom would be that thing."

"Well, so did I," Iris noted indignantly.

"But Reshiram does not _want_ to save Zekrom," Cilan emphasized. "You approached him with an emotional appeal; I with a logical one. They're enemies. They represent polarizing belief systems."

Iris realized what he meant then.

"You told him, instead, that we had to stop Zekrom and Team Plasma," she said, "that if we don't, then they'll take over Unova and Reshiram will be a subordinate to Zekrom."

He nodded, and Iris pulled her hand back from his and folded her arms. She looked away, deeply entrenched in thought, and it made Cilan nervous. He inclined his head toward her and worriedly inquired her name.

"I'm fine," Iris said quickly. "I guess I'm just trying to make sense of it." She looked around the room then, at anything but him—and her eyes eventually landed on a flower vase next to her full of white daisies and carnations. She reached out and touched the petal of a slightly-wilted carnation. "What are these for?"

A pause.

"Today's June 24th," Cilan said simply, "Yesterday was June 23rd." Iris stopped for a moment, then turned her eyes slowly back toward his.

"Yesterday was my birthday," she said, almost sounding incredulous. She was 18 years old: She had slept through her last few days of childhood and entered the threshold of adulthood. Neither her approval nor even her presence was needed for it. Time marched on whether she was there or not, and there was no unwinding it, nothing they could do to go back and fix it. She let out a short laugh then and said, "I can't believe you bought me flowers while I was in a coma."

Cilan smiled crookedly.

"I suppose I'm sentimental like that," he said. Iris's gaze softened. Her arms had unraveled again, and she left her hand open, which Cilan took up once more. He pressed his lips against her knuckles before lowering her hand again and saying, "Iris, I'm... I'm so relieved you're okay. Even if I walked away from this with Reshiram the same, it would have meant nothing—been worth nothing—if I lost you."

Iris smiled.

"Where's that great loyalty you professed for Unova and the Truth Seekers back in Black City?" Maybe she had meant for it to be cynical, a wry remark to escape an intimacy she didn't know how to handle, but her voice was only low and warm.

"I'm not sure people really fight for countries," Cilan said. "They fight for the people they love."

She had nothing to say to that. He had nothing further to say. Their gazes were locked, and any needed clarifications and permissions were exchanged there. He still held her hand, and he pulled it closer to him as he drew closer to her. Iris's lips parted slightly, and her breath grew shallow.

"Holy shit." Iris jerked her eyes upward and saw Georgia standing in the doorway. Iris felt sudden whips of panic at what her rival must have seen, but then Georgia added, "Holy shit, I can't believe you're awake."

"Oh, that's all," Iris said, relieved. Her and Cilan's hands slid apart as Georgia marched to her bedside.

"I thought I might be making it all up in my head when I heard both your voices from my room," Georgia breathed in disbelief. She then looked at Cilan and asked, as if Iris wasn't there, "How long has she been up?"

"Maybe ten or fifteen minutes," Cilan answered.

Georgia appeared utterly and uncharacteristically thrilled by this development, and she announced, "I'm going to go get the others." Iris frowned, not sure she really wanted to see anyone else right then, but before she could protest, Georgia was already out of the room. Iris let out a long sigh and smoothed out her nerves, and Cilan cast her a gentle smile.

It wasn't long before both Trip and Burgundy appeared in the doorway, flustered and dazed and still half-asleep.

"I wouldn't believe it until I saw it," Trip spoke first with a half-baked, almost sarcastic-sounding laugh.

"Well, believe it, I guess," Iris replied with a shrug.

Burgundy looked deeply unsure of what she should say, but she knew she had to say something. She approached the bedside carefully, pulling her robe closer about herself before asking, "How are you feeling?"

It was a loaded question, and Iris could have given a lot of answers: confused, embarrassed, frustrated, ashamed, like she was falling. She knew what Burgundy meant was probably how she was feeling _physically_ though, and forgoing the heart palpitations, that was much easier to answer.

"Fine," Iris replied.

"This is good," Georgia said, smirking at the others and then at Iris as she rejoined the group. "We've been holding out on leaving for days because of you. Maybe those Truth Seekers will get off our backs finally."

Iris's expression changed; she suddenly didn't feel fine anymore. Cilan breathed in sharply, knowing what was to come.

"The Truth Seekers are here?" Iris's voice shook slightly again, but not with fear or sadness this time; rather, it was anger that buffeted her voice. Georgia quickly realized her error.

"Did I say Truth Seekers?" She laughed nervously as if it were a joke. "I meant the—" She fumbled for a homophonous phrase, but unable to come up with anything, she turned on Cilan and hissed, "You didn't tell her yet?"

"Tell me what?" Iris demanded. Guilt visibly washed over Cilan.

"The reason why you've been able to stay here safe is because of the Truth Seekers," he admitted. "They sent a doctor and some other people for you after we returned with Reshiram."

She stared at him, her gaze hardening. The budding tendrils of the affection she had felt only minutes earlier withered and died, and Cilan saw it happen.

"Iris." The voice was familiar, and it caused Iris to free Cilan of her resentful gaze.

"Virgil?" Iris said in disbelief when she saw him standing there in the doorway. "You're a Truth Seeker?"

"A recent addition, but yes," Virgil replied, approaching her. He paused before asking, "I'm so glad to see you're okay. How are you doing?"

She couldn't give a pleasant answer this time, so she skipped past it and asked a question herself: "Why are you here?"

Virgil recognized the hostility in her tone but remained relatively disaffected by it. "Cilan said you'd be upset," he half-laughed. His expression and voice grew more serious when he continued, "Word got back to Castelia City about what you did at Dragonspiral Tower, and there were immediate calls for your protection, especially with happened at the League." Iris blinked and looked alarmed, but Virgil continued, "I've told the others this, but we want to take you all back to Castelia, where it will be safer and we can better defend you against Team Plasma. They will surely come after you next the moment they find out you have Reshiram, if they haven't found out already."

"Wait—" Iris cut in before he could say anything else. "What happened at the League?"

The silence that followed was so thick it left no room to breathe. Suddenly, no one could look her—or anyone else for that matter—in the eye. Iris's breath grew shallow again for different reasons, and she repeated the question more firmly.

"What happened?" she demanded. The "d" cracked with fear over the possibilities.

"Iris..." Cilan whispered her name, but he still didn't answer her. Virgil wetted his lips and finally looked up at her again.

"Three days ago, Team Plasma stormed the Unova Pokémon League headquarters," he said in as straightforward a fashion as he could muster. "Alder and the Elite Four are dead."

Iris stared. And then, everything fell apart.

"No..." She denied it at first, her voice immediately becoming watery around the edges. "No!" She really didn't want to cry, not in front of them. She didn't like to cry in front of people anyway, and she couldn't have picked a better group she would not have wanted to see her cry. Still, there was nothing she could do when the tears spilled helplessly past her eyes.

"Alder was—he was—" She groped for words, tried to choke them out. The others had already cried over this news days ago, but seeing Iris's reaction was enough to draw forth tears again. "He was the only one, the only one who—"

Iris pressed a hand to her face and shook her head. Trip had to turn away completely to hide the hand that rose his eyes. Burgundy was crying all over again, and Georgia's eyes were glossy but the grief didn't fully materialize. Cilan's gaze never left her. A few of his own tears had slipped by, but it was all from seeing the utter devastation that had broken her, and knowing she had privately done this when she lost Drayden, too.

"H-He was the only one who advocated for us, protected us. He was—" Iris didn't know what else to say, and so she paused and pleaded for an answer to the question, "What will happen now?"

 **End of Part I: Seeking Truth**

 _Thank you so much for all the support I've received for this story thus far. Your feedback in your reviews and messages are deeply appreciated. It will go on a brief hiatus as I finish up TAC II. Thank you again for your support and patience._


	7. What Rises

**Part II: Saving Ideals** **  
**  
 **Chapter VI: What Rises**

 _You won't find the history of the Truth Seekers in a run-of-the-mill Unovan textbook. Most people hadn't really heard about them until Team Plasma's reign of terror began. A lot were probably under the impression that they were new. I was one of those people for a while._

 _But the reality is that the Truth Seekers had been around for a long, long time—since birth of modern Unova. They were an essential half of the true story that became Unova's favorite myth, but no one seemed to know their name._

 _It's funny that for a group heralding truth as its cardinal value, it sure is hard to find the truth about them._

* * *

Cilan.

Iris had messily scrawled the name across the front of an envelope—compliments of the Icirrus Pokémon Center—late the night before their visit to Dragonspiral Tower. Cilan had fallen asleep in mere minutes. Iris, however, could hardly blink before she saw a vision of an inferno. They kept her up, had her staring at the clock, watching it as if her life were tethered to each minute that passed by.

11 p.m. She tossed and turned, trying to push the fiery images out of her head. She tried to think of anything and everything else, but it all seemed to loop back to the same imaginary scene.

11:17 p.m. Slightly perspired and slightly exasperated by the hypnotic red glow of the digital clock on her nightstand, she rose to her feet and paced around the room, taking care not to wake her roommate.

11:23 p.m. Unable to bear her sense of dread, and morbidly inspired after her thoughts inevitably turned to Drayden, Iris sat down to write the letter with a set of stationary and some envelopes she found in the desk.

It was difficult to pinpoint what exactly possessed her to write it. One part of her simply wanted to follow Drayden's example, to connect with him and perhaps understand what drove his last words. Another was rooted in her half-believing she would die and the tentative need to leave some type of testament behind. Most important, however, was the nagging thought that there were some things she wanted Cilan to know if she was gone and he went to join the Truth Seekers.

She finally slept after finishing it.

Iris intended for him never to see it if she lived. If she returned from Dragonspiral with Reshiram in alliance, her plan was simply to pull the letter out of the drawer she had left it in for him to find. Well, she had lived, and three days after she originally penned the letter, she angrily tore it to pieces alone in her room.

The addressee sat across from her now, his gaze cautiously averted from hers. They were on a small private plane to Castelia City, a relatively short flight, maybe only a couple hours. But it _felt_ agonizingly long. The silence was cutting, and the air was heavy with a mix of grief and resentment. Iris appeared expressionless, except for the hard gaze that occasionally fell upon Cilan, from which he avoided her eyes. Trip and Burgundy did the same, but Georgia was watching her rival closely, looking deeply annoyed.

"They want to take us to Castelia," Georgia had said that morning, finding Iris in her room. The medical equipment, by then, had all been moved out. The flowers Cilan had bought were starting to wilt.

"I know," Iris said flatly. "Virgil said so last night." She remembered, even if it was buried under the news that Alder was dead.

"But, I mean, they want to leave now," Georgia emphasized. "Within the next hour." Iris glanced over her shoulder; her eyes were narrow. Georgia continued, "Are you coming with us?"

Iris frowned and turned to face her.

"I don't think I have a choice," she said, folding her arms. "Reshiram is Cilan's—" The name came out venomously. "—and I can't just leave him—Reshiram—alone." She also doubted that Virgil, that the Truth Seekers, would let her walk away with her involvement in the situation at Dragonspiral Tower. Her distaste for the group was no secret, and for that reason, she figured her knowledge of Reshiram's capture was considered a risk to them.

She rose to her feet and strode toward the door, eyes fixed beyond Georgia in an attempt to brush past her. But Georgia quickly whipped on her, saying, "Hey, ease up. I get you're upset, but Cilan doesn't deserve this treatment. The last thing anyone needs is for you two to get into it again."

Iris felt her underlying anger simmer at that. She nearly turned on Georgia to warn her to back off. She was angry, and she was in mourning; she did not need to be chastised. She bit her tongue, though, and kept moving. They departed soon after for Castelia after meeting their pilot: Skyla, yet another new addition to the Truth Seekers.

"Hey guys," Skyla announced loudly—she did not use her PA, and the plane was so small there was no need for one—from the cockpit. "We're starting our descent, so make sure your seat belts are on. We'll land in about fifteen minutes."

Iris instinctively pulled on the edge of her strap, though it was already tight around her waist. Her doctor—Julius, a younger man with slick dark hair and sharp, steely gray eyes—neatly slid some papers into a folder and stored them away. He was seated across the aisle, between Cilan and Trip.

"Where are we going to land?" Burgundy asked, casting Virgil a careful glance. His lips parted to answer, but Iris spoke first.

"Liberty Garden."

All heads and eyes snapped toward her.

"Wh... What?" Cilan said, blinking. It was the first word he had said to her all day.

"If you want to know the truth, just remember liberty, because the truth will set you free." Iris recited the saying perfectly, though her voice lacked any emotion. "Liberty Garden."

A short, confused, and half-impressed silence followed. Yet, to her companions, there was something unsettling about her response. Iris evidently hated the Truth Seekers, but she had cracked their code, and she didn't care. A chuckle from Julius cut through the lull.

"You have the right idea, Ms. Ajagara," he said. "We'll be getting there through unconventional means, though." She and the others gave him an odd look, but he continued, "It's not a well-kept secret that the Truth Seekers are based in Castelia, but we still take care to make sure Team Plasma doesn't know exactly where we are."

Iris pressed her lips together and turned her head away. She craned her neck to get a view out the window behind her. They had descended below the clouds, and the tall, swaying towers of the city were visible in the distance. As they approached, Skyla turned the plane, and they made a long curve around the city, toward the harbor. The plane jolted as it made its final descent but managed to make a smooth landing on a runway near the port.

"Liberty Garden..." Trip mumbled, looking at the sea through the window. "It's on an island… so whose boat are we taking?"

"No one's," Julius said. Georgia raised her brow.

"No one's?" she questioned.

* * *

Skyla stayed behind at the small airport to taxi her plane; the rest headed directly to the seaside, led by Virgil.

The sky was overcast, but there remained a stuffy, humid heat that had Cilan pulling at his collar. It didn't help that he could feel Iris's gaze burning deep into his back; she lingered behind the group, arms crossed, each step heavy with bitter resignation. It was a battle of will not to glance back at her, and only once did temptation snag him. They made eye contact, and doing so seemed to catch her off guard.

Now she averted her eyes, looking sad, a curious development that confused Cilan as much as it worried him.

"You said we're not going by boat, but we're at the harbor." Trip's sudden remark put a temporary stop to Cilan and Iris's tight-lipped exchange. The group now stood at the end of the concrete pier, and Iris moved out from behind Cilan to get a better view. The Liberty Garden lighthouse was visible over the bleak horizon.

"We're not," Virgil reasserted. He and Julius stayed further off the pier's edge; rather, they were standing in front of a short tunnel that led beneath it. "There's a different route—one by foot."

Block red lettering, old and wearing away from the spray of the sea, above the tunnel entrance read "SEV AGL."

Burgundy immediately made a face.

" _Vous voulez rire_ ," she sighed with heavy exasperation.

The smell within was rancid, and the group was forced to press their hands to their noses, limiting all conversation. It was a matter of balance, too, to stay far off from the toxic water's edge but also not to hug the thinly slime-coated walls.

A Venipede crawled down the wall near Burgundy, and she let out an audible gasp and stumbled back.

"Calm down," Trip chided, briefly lowering the collar of his shirt from his mouth. "It's just one."

"The tunnel's just up ahead," Virgil informed the party after gently shooing the Venipede away. "The smell won't be as strong once we get there."

"Good, then let's not wait any longer," Georgia said, pushing forward, her shoulder—perhaps purposefully—brushing against Iris's. Their two gazes briefly locked, and the tension was palpable.

Virgil frowned and cast a searching glance at Cilan, but the connoisseur offered no answers. The rest of the party moved forward again, save Iris, who lingered behind a moment longer until finally joining the end of the train again.

"Here." Virgil stopped in front of an undistinguished metal door marked "MAINTENANCE" in the same red lettering as the door outside. Virgil pulled a card key out of his pocket and slid it through the reader. The dull red light on the reader flashed green, allowing him to open the door.

The reader's activation set off a chain of fluorescent ceiling plates lighting row by row down the long, white-tiled tunnel. The blindingly bright passage stood in contrast to the dark and dingy sewers through which they had moved, and the new arrivals squinted in awe as their eyes acclimated to the new environment.

Julius, familiar with the scene and unimpressed, moved forward first. The rest followed, and Virgil shut the door behind them, enclosing them in the eerie, achromatic channel that suddenly felt divorced from the real world. They moved in silence for a while, but the questions eventually had to come.

"I've never seen anything like this," Trip remarked. His voice had an ethereal-like echo within the passage. "This has to be at least a mile long—and we're underwater. How long has this been here?"

"A good question," Virgil said from the tail of the moving group. "I don't know. I'm pretty new to the Truth Seekers myself." He looked to Julius for a possible answer.

"A while," was all the doctor said. He either did not know, or he simply did not care to elaborate.

The answer satisfied no one, least of all Virgil. A look of discontent visibly flashed across his expression, and Iris, who had pulled up in line with the others, caught it. She then cautiously watched him as their group pressed forward, and only a couple more minutes of silence persisted before she spoke.

"Virgil." The reverberations in the white tunnel filled her voice with a celestial quality. It sent a shiver through her companions—Virgil noticeably pricked up—but she continued, "Why did you join the Truth Seekers?"

Cilan—and Burgundy and Georgia and Trip—stopped and looked back at her in surprise. Virgil, too, seemed caught off guard by the question as he turned to face her. Iris's expression remained firm, her eyes searching, and Virgil blinked once before he managed a weak smile.

"I had to," he said. "The incident in Nimbasa, I suppose, was the straw that finally broke the Camerupt's back." A pause. "You and I can find common ground there, can't we?"

Iris pulled her shoulders taut but then cast her gaze downward.

"Yeah," she agreed. "... Thanks for telling me."

Cilan frowned and uttered her name quietly, worriedly—he didn't have to say it, but he was asking if she was okay—yet she tilted her head away from him and refused to answer.

"We're almost there," Julius said, sounding impatient. "Let's keep going." The end was within sight, but his impetuosity begrudged the rest of the party. They moved on regardless and soon came to the end of the otherworldly hall. They headed into an elevator that had no walls, just metal bars that formed a hollow cube in the cold, concrete shaft.

"Watch your hands," Virgil warned as he prepared for their descent. "I've heard people have lost fingers going up or down from sticking their hands outside the railing."

Burgundy made a faint, repulsed noise as she folded her hands under arms. Georgia repressed a laugh, the first of its kind all day.

The elevator jolted before starting down. They saw nothing but concrete for a while; then, they dipped below the gray line and were introduced to a new and stunning reality.

There were at least—definitely more—thirty stories going downward, lit by the same bright white fluorescence of the underwater tunnel. They saw dozens upon dozens of faces, though blurred in the speed of the descent, moving up and down a ramp that spiraled the entire length of the underground edifice, home to a fraction of a nation that refused to leave it.

"This couldn't have been built in the last six months, not even in the last year," Trip murmured to himself. "How long _has_ this place been around?"

Although he intended for no one to answer, let alone hear, Iris flicked her gaze toward him and said with dithered astonishment, "You really have no idea, do you?" Mystified, Trip stared at her with a furrowed brow, but he did not reply.

They reached the bottom. Virgil lifted the elevator's metal grate and gestured for the others to exit. Julius left first, and he never waited. He disappeared among the throng of people moving busily across the floor without so much as a goodbye.

"Good riddance," Georgia scoffed, watching him go as Virgil closed the grate again. "What was his deal anyway?"

Virgil tried to shrug it off.

"I don't know him that well," he said. "We both were just assigned the same mission."

"Which was… ?" Georgia probed with a twirl of her hand. Iris gave her an odd look, wondering why _she_ was the one prodding him like this. Virgil, too, ended up shooting her an exasperated glance.

"All I was told was that a group of trainers had found Reshiram and that one of them was hurt," he said. "I was asked to bring you back to safety. I thought it was weird to ask me of all people to do it. They didn't tell me it was you guys, and they didn't tell me Iris was the one who was hurt."

Iris inhaled sharply, though inaudibly at this. Virgil also took in a cleansing breath, realizing he had nearly lost his temper.

"Sorry," he apologized. "This way."

Georgia harrumphed, shot Iris an unreadable glance, and folded her arms before following him. Burgundy sent Iris a quick look as well before catching onto Georgia's heels. Trip sighed and followed suit; only Cilan lingered with Iris for the extra moment, watching her worriedly. Iris looked directly at him and nearly asked why everyone was acting so strangely, but then she remembered she was mad at him, and stubborn resentment ultimately prevented her from speaking.

She swallowed her questions, looked away again, and caught up with the group. Cilan briefly closed his eyes, sucked in his breath, and followed suit.

"So are we in Liberty Garden?" Cilan asked Virgil after reaching his side, hoping some conversation might relieve the tension.

"Yeah," Virgil answered before pointing up. There, a stunning mosaic of a fire-breathing Reshiram adorned the ceiling. His wingspan broke through a black circular emblem that was captioned with the phrase _veritas omnia vincit_. The group stopped in wonder of it. "Do you see that? That's where the lighthouse is above ground."

"Truth conquers all," Cilan mumbled, translating the writing, and Iris felt her chest tighten. "How very symbolic for a lighthouse to be the centerpiece of this."

A bell rang, echoing through the spiral passages. The noise caught the group by surprise, but Virgil smiled reassuringly.

"It's break," he said. "It's about to get extra busy in here as people head to the cafeteria. It might be best to just stand here and wait a few minutes for the crowds to thin out again."

As if on cue, new packs of trainers and Pokémon began to emerge from staircases that evidently led to an additional floor below them, one which the elevator didn't reach. The group instinctively moved closer together to prevent separation. Iris flinched and jerked her arm away when it accidentally brushed against Cilan's. He pretended not to notice.

Iris turned her head toward the crowds and quickly realized she recognized many of the faces: There were other gym leaders, attendees she had seen at Drayden's funeral, people she had once competed against in Club Battle tournaments. She watched them pass without regard—until a striking, yet familiar pair of pale blue eyes caught her attention.

Elesa was standing across the way, looking directly at her with a placid expression, waiting patiently for the concourse of people and Pokémon to subside. Iris blinked, but turned to face her more fully, signaling she had seen her.

"Cilan?" Iris's attention was quickly drawn away from the Nimbasa leader. She whipped her head to the right to see Chili and Cress standing wide-eyed only a short distance away, having just emerged from further underground. Cilan inhaled sharply and audibly.

"Chili!? C-Cress!" His voice had started to break up before his brothers even made it to him, embracing him so fiercely that they nearly fell over in a heap.

"Oh my goodness!" The brothers weren't alone: Bianca, aghast, grabbed onto the arms of two of her companions before pointing ahead. "Guys, look—look who it is!"

The group was suddenly swarmed with a pack of friendly and very much missed faces. Cameron gave Trip a hearty slap on the back, at which the other trainer choked. Stephan bumped fists with Georgia before she turned to see a splitting image of herself—Luke's Zorua, who giggled mischievously before transforming back into her original form; Luke gave an abashed laugh when Georgia shot him an exasperated look. Bianca tearfully embraced Burgundy while Iris looked on, feeling personally disconnected from the moment—until Bianca looked up and reached out from behind Burgundy, grabbing Iris's hand.

Iris felt her chest swell and her eyes briefly burn. She had not expected to feel anything like this—not anything even remotely resembling happiness—after Drayden's death, after the fall of their Champion Alder, after her failure to connect with Reshiram, and on the grounds of the Truth Seekers of all places. Yet, the reunion was the first moment of unadulterated joy she—any of them—had experienced in a very long time.

"Where've you been?" Cress said with a relieved ache in his voice as he and Chili pulled away from Cilan. "We were worried you had never got our message and left Unova—or worse, that you'd been killed."

"We've been traveling," Cilan answered, brushing the moisture away from his eyes. "It took us a while to get here, but we're here."

"We had a bit of a… detour," Trip said dangerously, though no one pushed him to elaborate. Regardless, he received wary looks from both Iris and Cilan.

"It's amazing you're safe," Luke said.

"Yeah, it's been getting pretty crazy out there," Stephan added. "We've heard all the news—the attack on that school in Nimbasa… Skyarrow bridge collapsing… Alder…"

The mere mention of his name cast a dark, silent spell over the group. Stephan flinched, realizing it was too soon, and stumbled in trying to pick up the mood again.

"B-But the stories aren't all so bad!" he quickly amended. "There's been a rumor floating around here recently that some trainers caught Reshiram and _they're on their way here_."

The new arrivals collectively stiffened. They exchanged uneasy, wide-eyed glances, unsure of what to say. Virgil looked back at them with a raised eyebrow, but he held his tongue. This all, however, escaped the notice of their friends.

"Really?" Cameron grew starry-eyed at the notion. "Oh man, that'd be awesome! This war'd be over in no time if it were true."

" _If_ it were true," Cress emphasized.

"S-So!" Burgundy abruptly cut in, clapping her hands together. "While that's all well and good, we heard it was your break right now! And—"

"—Oh yeah!" Chili interrupted. "You guys probably haven't been registered yet, have you? You have to have an ID in order to get food."

"I was actually on my way to taking them to registration," Virgil said.

Iris's lip twitched with discontent. Bianca, however, gasped excitedly with realization and, inclining her head toward Iris and the other girls, said, "Hey, we should go with you! The four of us could be roommates! We could definitely work out getting our own dorm, I bet."

Georgia grinned and chuckled, and Burgundy, still on edge, managed a nervous laugh herself. Iris worked up a weak smile but glanced over her shoulder. Elesa was still waiting.

"You'd be able to move in with Chili and I, too," Cress said, addressing Cilan. "There are actually two open beds in our dorm, so Trip could join us."

"Then what're we waiting for?" Cameron said. "Let's go, I'm starved, and I wanna get you registered ASAP so we can eat!"

By now, the flocks of people leaving for the cafeteria had begun to clear. The combined party began to move, but Iris staggered ahead with hesitation. She looked at Elesa again, and Virgil, noticing, fell back to walk alongside her.

"Go to her," Virgil said in a low voice. "She's been expecting you. I'll take care of things on your end at registration."

Iris's curiosity at Elesa's presence suddenly turned to suspicion. Her gaze narrowed at Virgil, but she backed off regardless, slowly falling away from the group. Cilan watched her over his shoulder but said nothing, even as she cautiously turned to approach Elesa.

"It's good to see you again," Elesa said warmly when they met. The floor was now near empty. "I'm glad you're okay. I heard you were comatose for several days."

"Yeah… It's good to see you too. What did you want to talk to me for?" Iris asked, still managing an amiable tone despite her misgivings. With Virgil's words on her mind, Iris was realizing with increasing discomfort just how odd it was for Elesa to be waiting on her. They were fellow gym leaders, but they were not close. She could not recall Elesa even being particularly close with Drayden, although the last they had seen each other was at his funeral.

The Nimbasa leader was with Alder then.

"I'm sorry to say it, but I'm just another intermediary," Elesa admitted, and Iris's doubts were thrown to the wind. "There's someone else who wants to talk to you."

Then they returned in a different form.

"Just me?" Iris raised an eyebrow.

"Just you," Elesa affirmed.

"What about Cilan and the others?" Iris asked.

"Well, I'm sure he'll want to see them, too," Elesa said, "but you're obviously his first priority, and he's met you before."

 _Expecting_ you. _Just_ you. _Obviously_ the _first priority_. Iris felt more confused and therefore more mistrustful the further this carried on.

"Who is it?" Iris asked in frustration.

"The Truth Seekers' leader," Elesa said.

Iris wished she had followed Virgil to registration instead.

Elesa sensed her hesitation and said, "I understand you must be feeling out of place. I was also reluctant to join the Truth Seekers given their history. My ideals had to give up ground as conditions in Unova became worse—but I was only swayed when I learned who the new leader is."

Iris mentally stumbled at her honesty. It was the first time she had heard someone from outside her village acknowledge the Truth Seekers' history. Cilan's mentor had been the first outsider to express a distaste for them—but it was for all the wrong reasons.

Elesa understood. Elesa knew. But Iris was not sure if that made her feel better or worse.

"... Okay," Iris agreed. Elesa smiled and straightened up, gesturing for Iris to follow her. They headed in the opposite direction from where Virgil's party had gone, entering a plain, gray hallway.

They were silent for a short while, and Iris was fine with this. She was more concerned with the identity of this "new leader" who allegedly knew her. She could not conceive of who it might be: Another gym leader? Someone she had met while traveling with Ash and Cilan or even while in Johto? A former peer at the Opelucid Academy?

A wild hope crossed her mind. Perhaps Drayden's body could not be found because he was here in a brilliant move to reclaim Unova. Perhaps—

"I know it may not be much coming from me," Elesa began unprompted, "but I believe Drayden would have been immeasurably proud of you. To do what you have done…"

The past tense dashed Iris's hopes. She might have felt the cold throbs of disappointment more painfully were it not for the sudden sense of bewilderment that afflicted her. She had heard an unexpected tremor—solemn, almost reverent sounding—in Elesa's voice, but not in respect for Drayden, but for _Iris_.

But what had she done to deserve it?

"I… don't know about that," Iris said.

They reached the door at the end of the hall. Elesa reached for the handle, and Iris held her breath as the Nimbasa leader opened the door and ushered her inside.

The room was small but covered wall-to-wall with flat video screens, all muted. Some were turned to news channels, others were connected to what appeared to be security cameras in cities all throughout Unova. There was even one connected to the Unova Pokémon League Headquarters, but the screen was dark and had bold white text reading "OUT OF COMMISSION" over it.

There was only one other person in the room, and as soon as Iris entered, he turned on his heel. A pair of dark red eyes met hers, and Iris could not help but gasp.

"Benga?" she said.

"Hello Iris!" he greeted jovially.

"You're—" She choked on her own words. " _You're_ the leader of the Truth Seekers?"

"Surprised?" Benga grinned before looking past her. "Thanks for bringing her, Elesa. You can go if you like."

Elesa nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. Benga again redirected his attention to Iris, who still stood in stunned alarm.

"So how are ya feeling?" he asked. "You know, you're really something else. No one's taken on Reshiram and lived to tell the tale."

"What did you want to see me for?" Iris immediately demanded after shaking off her spell of shock, ignoring his attempts for friendly small talk. Benga appeared incredulous at first, but then he laughed.

"Straight to the point, yeah? I should've remembered that about you," he said. His expression suddenly changed, and the amiable atmosphere surrounding him disappeared. "There's something you ought to know."

"I already heard about your grandfather," Iris brusquely said.

Benga flinched, and a brief break in his determined expression revealed a mixed bag of emotions: sadness from the loss, anger toward the occurrence, and annoyance at Iris for her abrasion. Guilt pricked Iris, and she felt embarrassed by her own inconsideration.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to be so…" She trailed off.

"I assumed you already knew," Benga corrected solemnly though firmly. He then inhaled deeply, better restoring his composure before continuing, "It is related though. Team Plasma has a new Champion lined up."

"What? Who?" Iris blanched, both offended and broken up by the very idea. _Alder_ was their Champion. He had been since before she was even born. She had yet to consider that now that he was dead, the position was open—and it sickened her to realize Team Plasma would fill it.

"It's the son of Ghetsis, the leader of Team Plasma," Benga said. "His name is Natural. N for short."

There was an edge in his tone. Initially, Iris thought he was still miffed by her lack of tact, but then she discerned it was indignation, not irritation that padded his voice. Alder was his grandfather; he had to be equally if not far more disgusted than her.

Iris shook her head.

"How do you even know this?" she asked.

"Truth be told, I wouldn't if it weren't for another Seeker knowing this N guy before joining us," Benga admitted. "She said he's been groomed as a 'prince' his whole life, and we think this will be his big debut. Ghetsis likely wants to use him as a type of rallying point for their cause. I guess he's a lot less intimidating than Ghetsis, so he'll be a fresh face trying to convince more people to get on board with Pokémon liberation."

Iris's stomach knotted the more he spoke. She pressed a hand to her face, processing this new information, but she dropped her arm again as suspicion prodded at her once more.

"Why are you even telling me any of this?" she asked. "What does this have to do with me?"

He paused. Then, he sucked in his breath.

"Well, you and I both know Team Plasma has Zekrom," he began. At her darkening expression, however, he stopped and said, "What, did you think that was a secret between you and Drayden?"

"How do you know what Drayden told me?" Iris hissed dangerously.

"My grandpa was the liaison between you and him. I thought you had figured that out," Benga said. Iris pressed her lips hard together, and he continued, "Point is, the Truth Seekers have really had no way of fighting back against Team Plasma with them getting Zekrom—but having you and Reshiram on our side can change that."

Iris scoffed and looked away, folding her arms.

"You're talking to the wrong person," she said. "Ask Cilan."

"Yeah, he told Virgil you weren't exactly thrilled about us," Benga said. She glanced back at him, looking genuinely dumbfounded. "And I get it—believe me, I do." There was a flash of resolve in his red eyes when he added, "But I wouldn't have taken up the Truth Seekers if I didn't think it was necessary to save Unova."

"You…" Iris did not know what to say. She did not even know where to begin.

"Iris, we need you," Benga continued to implore without pause. "Unova needs you. You can speak to Dragons like no one else can. It takes a special person to capture a Legendary Pokémon. Not even Drayden could do it, but you did." Iris's breath started to grow shallow. "I completely understand your disgust with the Seekers—but with all of us, you, and Reshiram, we'll stop Team Plasma and end the war."

Everything came together in Iris's head. Wide-eyed, she unraveled her arms and took a large step back.

"I… I need to leave," she said.

"To leave?" Benga said, both baffled and alarmed. "Look, we can talk about this more. I know it's hard for you, but—"

"I can't—" Iris cut him off, her voice increasingly filling with anger. "I can't deal with this right now."

She left the room in a white-hot fury and stormed back up the hallway. She crossed the main plaza and headed where Virgil and the others had gone. She found the group coming back up the hall chatting amicably. Virgil was noticeably absent.

"Oh, Iris! We were wondering where you'd gone off to," Bianca greeted with a wave. "It's been decided! You, Burgundy, and Georgia are going to be rooming with me. It's going to be a lot of fun!"

Iris blew past her without so much as a look, heading straight for Cilan. He was turned away, talking with his brothers, but she grabbed his shoulder and forced him to face her.

"Why do the Truth Seekers think I captured Reshiram?!" she snarled, mere inches away from him.

"Wh—" Cilan started, and there were other gasps of astonishment at her belligerence, but she continued speaking before anyone could get even a single word in.

"Benga was talking to me like I was the one who captured him. What did you tell Virgil and that doctor?" Iris demanded.

"I—I told—" he stammered at first, but with a moment to recollect himself, he ended up saying more firmly, "I thought you would want the credit for his capture."

Iris let out a sharp, disbelieving breath.

"You set me up!" she accused. "You knew how I felt about the Truth Seekers, and so you—"

"—put them into the palm of your hand." Georgia forcibly intervened between the two, backing Iris up in the process. "You weren't there. You don't know. The Truth Seekers were on the doorstep to the Icirrus Pokémon Center barely two hours after we got back."

"What?" Iris's voice pitched a note higher.

"It was like they knew we'd be there—knew _you'd_ be there," Georgia said emphatically. "Maybe your friend Virgil didn't know, but _someone_ did."

"Wait—" Cameron interrupted, jumping in with a time-out signal. "Those rumors! _You_ guys were the ones to capture Reshiram?!"

Iris stared at Georgia with incredulity, then dead-locked her gaze with Cilan's. Burgundy and Trip waited with tense anticipation. The rest—Cilan's brothers, Bianca, Stephan, Cameron, Luke—looked on with a half-fearful astonishment.

"It was a group effort," Cilan finally said, his eyes never leaving Iris's. "But Iris is being modest. She's the one who captured him."

Silence followed. Iris suddenly felt the weight and heat of a half-dozen amazed gazes on her. She tried to find the words to say he was lying and to stop looking at her as one would an object of reverence—but none came.

"Iris?" She jerked her head back to see Virgil approaching. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon. Is everything okay?"

Her mouth was dry. She still could not speak.

"I-It's fine," Burgundy said with only a slight tremor in her voice. "It's just been a long and stressful day." She turned to Bianca. "Why don't you show us to our room? I know I'd like to lay down for a little bit before eating."

"Uh… sure!" Bianca agreed. She started to slink away, and Georgia and Burgundy began to follow. Iris lingered, however, looking at Cilan again. He was watching her, too, and suddenly looking interminably exhausted and defeated. Cress tugged on the sleeve of his shirt and implored he come. Cilan resigned, turning away.

Virgil watched the scene unfold before him with both confusion and a twinge of sadness at seeing something once so tender harden into stone. It was hardly a month earlier he had walked in on the two in each other's arms.

Iris flicked her gaze toward Virgil again, and he straightened up before approaching.

"This is your ID," he said, holding out a thin, plastic card to her. "You're officially a member of the Truth Seekers."

Iris took it and examined it wearily. It was plain, white, and it had her name—Iris Ajagara—printed in a similarly plain black font on it.

She was possessed by the sudden impulse to snap it in half, but then she remembered she was hungry.

* * *

The door to her new room was half-open when Iris made it all the way up the ramp to level twenty-two.

The room was plain in every sense of the word. No windows—obviously—no paintings, no carpet, no rugs, no color. There were two bunk beds, two double-shelved dressers, and a lamp in the corner.

Burgundy and Georgia were already there and unpacking when she arrived. Burgundy glanced up when Iris's shadow appeared in the doorway and attempted a smile, but it came out crooked. Georgia did not acknowledge her at all.

Iris was about to ask where Bianca had gone, but then the blonde appeared behind her, clinging onto a hastily packed bag.

"Oh hi, Iris," Bianca greeted anxiously. "We were thinking of getting food soon. Are you hungry?"

"... Yeah, actually," Iris said. Bianca smiled weakly and dropped her bag off at the edge of a bed.

"I usually meet up with the Griffith brothers and others, but you know, maybe for tonight it can be just us girls," she said carefully. "Would that be okay with you?"

She was trying to frame it as her own idea, as a fun way for them to bond, and not a necessity given how Iris had exploded on Cilan downstairs. Iris recognized this but still nodded.

"Sure," she agreed.

Georgia suddenly threw the shirt she was folding onto her bed.

"Arceus, why are you such a _bitch_?" she spat, and Iris reeled back. Burgundy tensed up while Bianca gasped.

"Georgia!" Bianca yelped, but Georgia remained undeterred.

"I get that you're miserable," Georgia plowed on. She approached Iris directly as she spoke, and Iris, though wide-eyed, managed to stand her ground. "You don't want to be here, you're obviously still wrecked by Drayden's death, and now you've got Alder's over your head too. That is not an excuse to take it out on other people, least of all Cilan. I mean, Burgundy's Pokémon are _gone_ , but she's no more insufferable than she usually is."

Burgundy shrunk back, and Iris held her breath. Georgia was far from finished; these words had pent up within her all day, and she had been waiting to use them.

"You, on the other hand—you're a different person than who I met," she continued. "You were stupidly stubborn back then too, but at least you weren't _bitter_."

Her edges on her consonants were cutting, and Iris finally started to shrink back too.

"Cilan is an arrogant prick sometimes, and usually you're justified in getting mad," Georgia conceded, "but he has _always_ been in your corner. And since Drayden is gone, I can almost guarantee there's not another person out there who cares about you even remotely as much as he does, and you're screwing it up."

"Tone it down, Georgia," Burgundy suddenly interjected, sensing her friend was towing the line. And she was: The reality was stone cold, and Georgia had bludgeoned Iris with it.

Iris breathed in sharply. Tears pricked painfully at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would have rather died than have cried at the hands of Georgia.

"I'm not wrong, though," Georgia protested, whipping her head toward the connoisseuse. She looked back at Iris before she finished, "I'm telling you this because I actually care, too—but not as much."

Iris still said nothing. The afterthought amelioration did little to lessen the blow when at that moment, Iris despised Georgia more than she ever had—because she _was_ right.

"... Bianca, Burgundy, let's go," Georgia said. Burgundy hesitantly stood while Bianca scrambled to follow.

"Come if you want," Georgia added to Iris over her shoulder as she left. Burgundy went with her, but Bianca stayed a moment.

"Iris… um…" Bianca started, shuffling her feet.

"I'm fine," Iris said quickly. "Go ahead."

Bianca frowned but understood that Iris did not want to be bothered then. She scuttled off to catch up with Georgia and Burgundy, closing the door behind her.

Alone again, Iris fell onto an open bed and crossed an arm over her eyes. She lay there for a while, and in that silence, Georgia's biting censure rang more loudly in her ears.

Her arm fell away, and Iris rolled awkwardly to the side, reaching into her bag. She pulled out Drayden's letter—now in a miserable condition—and the photo of herself and her parents. She laid them beside her and propped herself up on her elbows to look at them ruefully.

"What would you say to me now?" she said sourly. "Not only did I fail, I became one of them. And I've ruined everything else in the process."

They were silent. Georgia's words rang louder.

* * *

"I can't tell you how agonizing it was to leave without you," Cress said suddenly and apologetically, drawing the eyes of his brothers and Trip to him. "Nurse Joy was the one who convinced us to leave. ... The gym was attacked. We were no longer safe."

The confession burst out unexpectedly once they were alone in their dorm. Cilan straightened up and looked worriedly at his brother, who was now visibly overwrought with guilt. Still, it was not clear to Cilan whether the swift turn in conversation was a result of wanting to avoid what happened with Iris, or if it Cress was genuinely unloading his own remorse.

Either way, Cilan's heart ached.

"It's okay," Cilan assured him. "You did what you needed to do to be safe. That's all I could have wanted. And it worked out—I'm here. Your message made it to me."

Chili was eying them warily, looking oddly impatient. Trip was laying on his new bed, too tired to unpack, but he was considering leaving. His presence felt intrusive.

"... I know," Cress said. A pause. He changed the topic again. "Did you see it?"

"See what?" Cilan asked.

"The gym."

Cilan wetted his lips.

"Yes," he answered. He had, but he wished he had not. The mere mention conjured up the stench of that smoke, rising thinly from the rubble of their home, a long-standing pride and joy of the family.

Cress sighed, "In retrospect, I wish we had gone back—not to stay, but to see what we could have recovered. You know, photos, the family tree, that sort of thing." Another pause. "It doesn't matter anyway. We couldn't have brought it here with us. And you're here. They were just things, but you're here."

Cilan chuckled hollowly.

"You know, I said something similar to Iris that night." Cilan then winced, realizing the name drop was ill-timed, and Chili immediately pounced on it.

"Yeah, so are we gonna address that Donphan in the room or what?" Chili half-demanded.

"Chili," Cress warned, but Chili did not stop. Trip closed his eyes and let out a long breath. It had to happen eventually.

"How did you guys ever manage to capture Reshiram? And why was Iris so mad at you?" Chili raved. "You two are best friends. I don't think I've ever seen her at your throat like that."

An image of Iris's expression the previous night, the moment after she learned the Truth Seekers had come for her, flashed across Cilan's mind. He had seen Iris angry before, especially at him, but the contrast between the tender affection in her eyes only moments before and the cold hostility afterward was devastating.

"Hah... I've seen worse," Cilan said almost dismissively.

"... It is concerning, Cilan," Cress said, finally conceding that the issue had to be addressed.

"It was simply a misunderstanding," Cilan insisted. "She and I have been through a lot recently. We all have."

"You're being evasive," Chili accused.

"Please forgive me if I don't want to talk about it right now," Cilan said more tersely, hoping the shut the topic down. Chili only looked annoyed, though.

"Cilan—" he started, but he did not get far.

"—No, it's okay," Cress said, more firmly intervening. "We'll wait for when you're ready."

Cilan nodded gratefully.

"Thank you," he said.

Chili was obviously disgruntled, but he managed to shake it off. He ran his fingers through his hair once to help cool down.

"... Anyone else hungry?" he asked, aiming for a more amicable tone. "The food here is, uh, terrible, but it holds you over."

"I am," Cress said.

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," Cilan said, prompting both of his brothers to frown. "Sorry."

Suspicious discontent was now starting to creep up on Cress, too. Still, being polite, he turned to their other roommate and said, "You too, Trip?"

"I'll catch up in a moment," Trip said, implicitly shooing them away and making the situation worse.

"Okay…" Chili said dubiously, starting to back away. As they turned around, Cilan suddenly spoke up.

"Chili, Cress." They stopped.

"Yeah, bro?" Chili said, facing him again.

Cilan hesitated, then asked, "Who's Benga?"

Chili and Cress exchanged quick, puzzled glances. It was initially confusing why he would bring Benga up now of all times, but when their eyes met, they had a simultaneous revelation: Iris had mentioned Benga when accusing Cilan of wrongdoing.

"He's the leader of the Truth Seekers," Cress answered carefully, "and Alder's grandson."

"He's a real nice guy," Chili added. "Not at all what you'd expect running this place, either—super down to earth and funny. You get the sense he really, really cares about Unova and all the people here, just like Alder."

"That so?" Cilan asked.

Cress nodded and continued, "He personally comforted both Chili and I after you'd been gone for so long." He stopped and shook his head. "I don't know how he could have known you were okay, but his confidence _was_ reassuring, even if it wasn't sensible. I'm glad he ended up being right."

These last remarks were intriguing—to both Cilan _and_ Trip. The latter actually sat up in his bed. When no one spoke however, Cress started to move toward the door again. Chili followed.

"Well, you two can continue to get settled in. We'll see you later," Cress said.

Then they left. And as soon as they were gone, Trip rose to his feet.

"I don't really want to get involved in your family affairs, but don't you think your own brothers ought to know the truth? I don't see what reason you'd have to keep it from them," he said frankly. "Unless it's just to escape the responsibility of owning a Legendary Pokémon and having no idea how to handle it."

Cilan flinched at that.

"I-It's—" he stammered before finding his footing. "... Iris and I made a promise to each other, but this wasn't the ideal outcome for either of us. I'm still trying to do right by her despite everything."

He sounded so assured, so determined in that—and somehow, still so lost on what to do. Trip frowned and gave him a once-over.

"... I'll follow your lead on this," he eventually said, "but not as a favor to you. Now that Iris is here, it probably is for the best everyone in the Truth Seekers thinks she caught Reshiram."

"What do you mean?" Cilan asked, perking up.

"With what she knows and how she feels, she's either going to be kept as a prisoner here, or she's going to be revered as a hero," Trip said bluntly. "They're not letting her go either way."

He, too, left and closed the door behind him.

Cilan stood motionless for a moment, looking where he had gone. Then, he stiffly turned his head toward the bag on his bed. He reached inside and found the smooth surface of a Pokéball—the Pokéball which he had used to capture Reshiram.

He turned it over in his hands. The ball immediately grew warm to the touch, and there was an unusual, perhaps even unnerving energy emanating from it.

His head started to fill with noise, growing louder with each passing moment. Yet, his head never throbbed, nor did his ears painfully ring. The sound cut abruptly with a knock at the door. He jerked his head toward it, quickly put the Pokéball away, and headed over to answer the door.

There stood Iris, her arms folded and her gaze averted. Cilan tensed up.

They said nothing for a moment. Then, Iris slowly brought her eyes up to his.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was small.

The tension in Cilan's shoulders went slack.

"I forgive you," he said.

It was automatic, without hesitation—and it was genuine.

* * *

The faint smell of seawater and distant sound of waves was soothing in its own right. It was alive, it was breathable, and Iris badly wanted to see it.

The floor beneath her feet was made of wood rather than concrete, and she craned her neck to see a grand staircase spiraling its way toward the top. The design was reminiscent of the stretch of architecture below them.

"I-Iris," Cilan said breathlessly, tired from their climb, his head poking out of the trapdoor behind her. "We shouldn't be here."

She smiled and turned to help pull him out.

"It'll be fine," she assured him. "Nobody will find us here. That's the point."

He was clearly still unsure, but he followed her on her way up the staircase regardless. Perhaps the only reason he tolerated it was because she seemed to be in a far better mood—the best he had seen in a long time.

They reached the top. The lighthouse's lantern room was small, simple, but quite beautiful. The storm panes were made of a thick, crystal-clear glass, looking out over the grassy isle and the sea beyond. It was not quite dark enough for the lamp to be on, so the pair was able to enjoy the landscape without issue.

Iris headed toward one end of the room while Cilan stayed on the other. He watched as she pressed her hands against the glass, looking out at the scene below her. He smiled gently before glancing the other way, toward Castelia City, and then below his own feet.

"It's amazing being up here, knowing what's just below us," he said. "I would've never expected it…"

Iris did not reply. Cilan looked her way again and noticed there had been a change in her demeanor. Her fingers pressed hard against the glass, sliding down it until they curled into fists and dropped to her side.

"I thought you had called them," she said solemnly.

Cilan blinked and turned toward her more fully.

"Called whom?" he asked. She faced him too.

"The Truth Seekers," she said. "I thought you had been the one to reach out to them after what happened with Reshiram, and then I thought you told them I was the one to capture him so I couldn't leave. I guess I was just making assumptions, and that wasn't right."

"You don't need to apologize twice," Cilan said, now coming to her side.

"Who was it that called them?" Iris half-demanded. She did not sound angry however, only desperate. "Trip? Burgundy?"

"None of us," Cilan said, shaking his head. "We asked ourselves the same question. But it wasn't any of us."

"You're sure about that?" Iris said doubtfully.

"What reason would any of us have had for it?" Cilan said.

"Then who?" Iris pressed.

"Nurse Joy?" Cilan suggested, starting to sound a twinge tired by the topic. "I don't know. What does it matter at this point?"

A pause. Iris looked out the window again, her hand falling to the glass pane once more.

"I know the leader," Iris said quietly. "Elesa took me to meet him, but I already knew him."

"... You mean Benga," Cilan realized.

She nodded and continued, "It was at Drayden's funeral. Alder introduced us. Benga tried to get me to join the Truth Seekers then. I think he's known all along I was going to look for Reshiram. … So when whoever told him that some trainers had found Reshiram, he must have assumed it was me, and he must have picked Virgil to come get us because we know each other."

Iris stopped then and closed her eyes, evidently still trying to make sense of the implications. Cilan himself felt a touch of unsettlement.

"It sounds like he's trying hard to win you over," he said.

"He won't succeed," Iris retorted suddenly and firmly.

"But why not let him try?" Iris gave him a confused look, and he continued, "Georgia did have a point. Since he thinks you captured Reshiram, it's likely the Truth Seekers need you more than you need them."

Iris's eyes briefly widened at this revelation. A wide breadth of new possibilities colored her eyes a vibrant red, but reality again darkened them to a cold brown.

"It can't last," she said flatly. "Reshiram is your Pokémon. Not mine. I can't command him, let alone train him."

"And you think I could?" Cilan half-laughed. "I don't know the first thing about Dragon-type Pokémon." He reached out and touched the edge of her hand on the glass. "I have faith in you."

Iris flinched and frowned.

"Where was that faith the first time I wanted to command Reshiram?" she mumbled.

Cilan briefly pressed his lips hard together.

"You lived," he said bluntly. "You shouldn't have."

Iris stared for a moment, her expression unchanging. However, she dropped her hand again and moved under his arm, becoming much closer—intimately closer—to him.

"I wouldn't have if it weren't for you," she said, equally blunt, though her voice had grown softer.

Cilan was initially startled by the boldness of the move, but he did not reject it—far from it. His arm fell around her shoulder, and he pulled her closer into him.

They stayed like that for a while. Iris broke the reverie.

"So are the Truth Seekers everything you hoped they would be?" she asked.

He was silent.

An hour later, Iris was back on the first floor and standing before Benga again. She strode into the room with conviction just as he was finishing up a conversation with the Humilau City Gym Leader Marlon. Her sudden appearance caught the two men off guard.

"Whatever you want me to do," Iris said firmly, "we do it on my terms."

Marlon appeared confused and did a double-take between her and Benga. Benga himself stood stunned for a moment; then, his lips curled into a smirk.

"Deal," he agreed.


	8. What Falls

**Chapter VIII: What Falls**

 _The war wasn't Team Plasma's first appearance. It wasn't even their first_ _major_ _appearance. The "Pokémon liberation" angle was new, but they had been around for a long, long time._

 _It was back in the summer of 2002, when everyone in Unova thought the world was going to end, that they really made their name known. Team Plasma's goal was a lot simpler back then: Attain power. It wasn't veiled under any fake social causes._

 _It started in June. Started snowing, I mean. It was projected to be one of the hottest summers on record, but everything changed. Heavy snow storms, downed power lines, trapped families, damaged buildings, and fears of food shortages were just a few of the problems we faced. It was later determined that the abnormal weather was caused by a disturbance with the legendary Dragon, Kyurem. Team Plasma, once considered a mere nuisance by security officials, had created a frozen armageddon._

 _Then, one day, it just stopped. The snow melted. Warm weather returned. Alder assured the people that the problem had been solved. Team Plasma faded from our memories. We forgot about them. And because we forgot, they could come back 13 years later with a new uniform and a new mantra, and hardly anyone would be the wiser._

* * *

Cilan drummed his fingers anxiously against his upper thigh. The room was silent, lonely. Only the muted hum of the dozen television monitors staring back at him filled his ears. His eyes, however, were locked on only one screen that read "OUT OF COMMISSION" across it.

The click of the door opening behind him broke his reverie. Cilan flicked his head left, his eyes now following the interviewer circling to the front of the room.

"Sorry for making you wait," Benga said a little sheepishly.

"It's no problem," Cilan graciously replied.

"It's nice to actually meet you one-on-one," Benga said, reaching for the connoisseur's hand.

"Likewise," Cilan said, also leaning forward to grasp Benga's hand. He then fell back into his chair. Benga, meanwhile, angled himself on the edge of the center table. A short, strained silence followed as the two men took stock of each other.

"So I imagine you have an idea of why I wanted to talk to you," Benga said.

"I have an inkling," Cilan admitted. He then appended, "I have heard you've also spoken with Georgia, Trip, and Burgundy."

Benga pressed his lips together.

"Tell me what you know then," he said. Cilan briefly closed his eyes and sucked in his breath.

It was a week ago—the day after their arrival.

* * *

"The first few days will feel really intense," Chili said as he nibbled on the edge of a dry croissant he had snatched from the cafeteria. "But honestly, I feel like I've become a stronger trainer. I mean, we're working with some of the best Unovan battlers here—Elesa, Brycen, Clay..."

"That doesn't matter," Trip dismissed, pulling a shirt over his head. "You know how gym leaders work. You're supposed to test and encourage the development of an individual's battle style. But Clay? Elesa? They're not here to help anyone follow their dreams. They're drilling effective combat tactics."

Chili glowered at him.

" _You've_ never even been to one of the training sessions," he pointed out.

"I don't need to have been to know what it will be like," Trip dismissed. Chili's frown deepened, and Trip added, "Well, don't give me that look. I'm not saying it's a bad thing—it's just necessary."

"We ought to leave," Cress interjected, seeing Chili's temper begin to flare. "We shouldn't be late."

Chili managed to cool at that.

"Yeah," he agreed with a sigh before stuffing the rest of his croissant into his mouth. "Let's go."

Chili and Trip were first out the door, but Cress, sensing some discomfort in Cilan, lingered behind a moment longer with his other brother.

"Is it really as Trip describes?" Cilan asked.

"It's more unsettling when put into his terms," Cress acknowledged. "But he isn't wrong: It's not good or bad. It's just what's necessary."

"Such is war," Cilan mused. Cress smiled sadly and nodded.

A knock on the edge of the door frame broke the silence. The two brothers looked up to see Iris in the doorway. Her eyes locked with Cilan's, and Cress felt the air grow heavier.

"I'll let you catch up," Cress said.

"Thank you," Cilan said with a slight bow of his head. Cress nodded to him, too, before grabbing his Pokéballs off the bed and heading to the door.

"Hope you're well this morning, Iris," Cress said politely to her on his way out.

"I am. Thanks," she said.

Then, she and Cilan were alone. She shut the door behind her.

"I spoke to Benga last night," Iris said, skipping any further pleasantries. A beat of hesitation followed before she added, "... He wants me to train Reshiram, and I told him I would as long as he met my terms."

"What were the terms?" Cilan asked. Iris sucked in her breath and sank onto the edge of Chili's bed.

"First…" She became quieter and was slow and careful as she spoke. "... that I would get to train Reshiram the way I want to. Benga doesn't get to tell me how to do it. That way, I'll know Reshiram is protected—that no one's taking advantage of him."

That was reasonable, Cilan thought. She was the Dragon expert. It made sense she would not want any other trainers, well-intentioned or not, interfering with her process.

"Second," Iris continued, beginning to loosen up, "that he has to tell me everything he learns about Team Plasma—and that I get a say in any decisions the Truth Seekers make."

That request was far more steep, and Cilan straightened up at it.

"And last, that our top priority becomes saving Zekrom," Iris concluded.

"He agreed to all that?" Cilan asked a little incredulously. He did not know Benga, and he did not know the nature of the Truth Seekers, but he only expected Iris would be granted the leeway to assert her own independence. He did not expect she would be able to cast her net of influence across the entire group.

"We fought on the last point," Iris admitted. "He said the top priority of the Truth Seekers is to defeat Team Plasma and end the war in Unova, and that won't change." She paused again, obviously bothered. Cilan nearly asked why, but then she finished, "... He agreed that we would look for a chance to save Zekrom, though."

"That's good," Cilan said. "It's a good compromise."

Iris hummed dismissively, saying, "I don't know about that. I think he and I have different ideas about how to end the war." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms then and averted her eyes, adding, "I'm supposed to meet him with Reshiram this morning."

Cilan heard the twinge of unease in her voice, and it affected him with twice the severity. The memory of Iris's first encounter with Reshiram was still in his mind, and he had few new reassurances since then. Even though they had managed to capture the Legendary, Reshiram was far from tame, and Iris was even further from safe.

"... Oh." Cilan turned and went to his bag, pulling out the Pokéball which contained the Legendary. The same warm energy he felt last night emanated from it in his hand.

He extended the Pokéball to Iris. She stared at it for a while then slowly brought her eyes up to his.

"You're just giving him to me?" she asked.

"Of course," Cilan said, pressing the ball into her hand.

"He's your Pokémon," Iris went on.

"He's not _really_ my Pokémon," Cilan insisted. "I captured him, yes, but… w-we cannot conceivably be compatible, and he was captured using the Pokéball the man from your village gave you. He's as much yours as he is mine."

Iris seemed swayed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "... I just need to connect with him like any other Dragon-type. That's what Drayden would tell me."

"Like you did with Noivern," Cilan encouraged, half for her, half for himself.

"Yeah." Iris slid the ball into her front pocket. "What are you doing today?"

"I'll be training with the others in the deep underground," Cilan answered.

"... Training?" Iris inquired.

"Well, Benga told you himself," Cilan said. "The Truth Seekers don't sit waiting for Team Plasma to disappear on its own."

Iris pressed her lips hard together.

"Right," she said. "... Benga's meeting me on the first floor. You should walk with me."

Cilan immediately sensed the sullen change in her mood, but agreed regardless.

"Of course," he said.

The winding journey down the ramp was painfully quiet between them. Iris refused to initiate even polite conversation, and Cilan did not know what to say. He was still trying to figure out what had upset her, if it was something he had said and, more importantly, if it was something he could fix.

He was distracted, however, by the flurry of amazed whispers and stares each time they passed by a group of people on their way down. Word spread fast, he supposed, and Iris was a new hero to them. She was visibly unappreciative of the attention.

Three floors away from the bottom, they hit a blank spot in the crowd, and he finally cleared his throat to speak.

"What do you suppose you'll do with Reshiram?" he asked.

It was related to one of the many thoughts that had dizzied his head on their spiraling descent. The fact Iris had nearly died the first time she tried to tame Reshiram was now weighing heavily upon him, and the further they went down, the more he wondered if he had made a mistake.

"We just need to work on understanding each other," Iris said. "We have to respect each other—to share the same goals and ideals—in order to really be partners. It's the same with any Pokémon, and you know that. The difference with Dragon-types is that they can be a _lot_ harder to talk to."

"Iris!"

They had reached the bottom, and Benga was waiting. He waved to her from across the busy floor and gestured for her to join him.

"That's my cue," she mumbled, starting for him. Cilan nodded and watched her go until he, too, called after her.

"Iris." She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. "Please be safe," he implored.

"... I will," Iris said. She again looked toward Benga, who was watching the conversation unfold with an indiscernible expression. She took one long stride toward him, then paused and spun fully on her heel to face Cilan head-on.

"Cilan," she said, making sure she had his attention. Their eyes locked again. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me to have another chance."

She hurried on before he could ask what she meant by "another chance." He watched as Benga greeted her with a jovial grin that would have rivaled his late grandfather's. Cilan's eyes never left them until they went into the barred elevator—the one from which they had arrived—and disappeared.

Cilan turned and joined the concourse the trainers and their Pokémon headed for the deep underground. He managed to temporarily waive away worried thoughts about Iris as he turned his attention to finding the others. His search was short: His eye quickly caught a bob of vibrant violet curls.

"Burgundy!" Cilan called out to her.

She stopped, perking up at her own name, but her expression was wary as she turned to face Cilan. He noticed that Georgia and Burgundy appeared nowhere nearby.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"I was running late this morning," Burgundy said. "I told the others to go on without me and that I would find them later."

"Well, we've found each other," Cilan said. Burgundy did not appear thrilled at the prospect, but she also did not protest as they started moving together. They joined the stream of trainers heading into the tunnels leading down into the training grounds. Bright white lighting showed their path.

"To be honest, I didn't expect you'd be joining us in the deep underground," Cilan started amicably. "Since you…" He stopped short, realizing this was not perhaps the most lighthearted conversational topic.

"Georgia's letting me borrow her Sylveon still," Burgundy said, following through with it anyway. "I couldn't just stay here and _not_ train. And I don't mean that in a personal way."

Cilan vaguely understood what she was implying, but disagreed. Realistically, the Truth Seekers would not throw her out for not having her own Pokémon. She knew too much about Iris and Reshiram. Still, it was hard to shake the thought that it may have been different if that were not the case.

"I see," was all Cilan said.

Burgundy breathed in through her nostrils and sighed, saying nothing for a moment. Then, her voice broke out.

"It probably would be better if they just made me do desk work for them or something," she complained. "Sylveon and I are not compatible."

"I wouldn't go that far," Cilan said. "She's not defiant toward you. You and Georgia are very close. There's well-documented evidence that Pokémon can respond well to people who have a strong relationship with their trainer."

"But it's not the _same_ ," Burgundy lamented. "I didn't capture Sylveon. We don't have the type of bond a human and Pokémon should have. She listens because she respects Georgia, not because she cares about me."

The direction of the conversation was suddenly hitting upon the most sensitive fears nagging at Cilan then, and he visibly grew more uncomfortable. Either Burgundy was oblivious to this and looking to shift the attention away to something other than her missing Pokémon, or she was acutely aware of his discomfort and wanted to prolong it.

"Where's Iris?" she asked, changing the subject.

"She… went away with the Truth Seeker leader and Reshiram," Cilan said, struggling.

Burgundy blinked and then realized her blunder.

"Oh."

They said nothing further until they made it to the deep underground. The arena was massive; even with hundreds of trainers pouring in from all four entrances, space was ample. A ten-lane track circled around them, but more relevant was the considerable number of battlefields drawn in white paint at the center. Large digital screens were fixed around the arena, though all were presently blank. Cilan's attention, however, was drawn to the words engraved in mammoth lettering at the far end of the cylindrical hall: _veritas omnia vincit_.

"And I thought upstairs was _remarquable_." The sense of awe in Burgundy's voice quashed the attempt at sarcasm.

" _There_ you two are."

Cilan and Burgundy turned to see their respective parties had united: his brothers and Trip had found Georgia and Bianca along with Stephan, Cameron, and Luke.

"So what did Iris have to say to you?" Chili continued without missing a beat. "Cress said that's what was holding you up."

"We… just needed to get on the same page," Cilan said carefully. The implication breezed by all but Trip, Burgundy, and Georgia. Regardless, Georgia allowed a sly smile to spread her lips.

"Kiss and make up, huh?" she teased. Cilan let out a nervous laugh.

"We already made amends," he said.

There was no chance for anyone to push him to elaborate. The arena screens powered on, bringing Brycen's face to the forefront of everyone's attention. A hush fell as he began to speak.

" _Good morning,_ " he greeted. His voice reverberated throughout the arena. " _In keeping with this week's focus on defensive tactics, we are introducing a new strategy developed out of the Sinnoh region: the Counter Shield_." The screen shifted to pre-recorded video footage of Brycen's Dewgong, over which Brycen continued to narrate. " _The Counter Shield, when used correctly, prevents enemy Pokémon from getting close in addition to dealing damage._ " In the footage, Dewgong used Ice Beam to create a slick surface beneath himself. Then, he spun on his belly while using Blizzard, surrounding himself in an icy torrent. Brycen continued, " _The Counter Shield involves your Pokémon creating a defensive barrier around itself through a special attack. In order to achieve a 360-degree defensive zone, however, your Pokémon will often need to maintain a consistent rotation. How this is accomplished can vary from Pokémon to Pokémon. Observe._ "

The screen then cut to video of, presumably, Clay's Palpitoad. The mixed-type Pokémon used a Water attack to muddy the earth beneath beneath him, then flipped onto his back and spun itself in the slosh while using Mud Shot to create a Counter Shield.

"How _is_ it that all of Unova's gym leaders ended up in charge here?" Trip mumbled, casting the Striation brothers a sideways glance. "Iris spoke of the League and the Truth Seekers being connected—is that true?"

"... I suppose it's true in the sense that Benga's grandfather was the Champion," Cress answered. "My understanding is that nearly all the gym leaders were approached. Some may have independently joined, but many were personally recruited by Benga or another Truth Seeker."

This immediately intrigued Cilan. He recalled Iris telling him last night that Benga had tried to talk her into joining them.

"Were you?" he asked of his brothers.

"Sort of," Chili admitted. "... Someone actually approached us a week before the gym burned down. Striation City was a holdout in terms of recruitment and evacuation. Being as popular as we were, it was thought that maybe the Striation Gym Leaders joining the Truth Seekers would change that. But we said no only because you weren't home yet. Then… the attack on Striaton happened, and we were really left with no choice." He smiled wryly. "Heh. Benga did mention that once word got out that Cress and I had joined the Truth Seekers, recruitment from Striaton shot up."

"Was it Benga who talked to you?" Cilan pressed.

"No, it was…" Chili crunched his face, trying to remember.

"Fennel," Cress answered for him. "Not Therese Fennel from the Dreamyard, though. It was her older brother, Julius. He was in the city apparently to try to convince her to join the Truth Seekers too."

The name struck Cilan.

"Julius wouldn't happen to be a doctor, would he?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, he is," Chili said, nodding. "How did you know?"

"He was Iris's doctor," Georgia realized, now understanding what Cilan was getting at.

" _Your task for today,_ " Brycen continued, " _will be to work with your Pokémon to experiment with the rotation form and special attack combinations. Please pair up and report to a battle field to begin practice._ "

"All right," Stephan said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's do this—Cilan, let's partner up."

"Certainly," Cilan agreed with a weak smile. "So how does this work?"

"We'll usually share a field," Cameron said, pointing with his thumb to the nearest one. "There's a lot, but there's not enough for everyone, you know? So we just trade off. Bianca, pull out your Emboar, I want try this Counter Shield thing against him with Lucario."

"You got it!" Bianca agreed. She jogged to the other end of the field as she pulled out Emboar's Pokéball. "Go, Emboar!"

As his opponent's Pokémon materialized, Cameron jumped onto his side of the field with an enlarged Pokéball of his own. "All right, Lucario, let's do it!"

As their respective Pokémon squared off, Bianca called to Cameron, questioning, "So, what do you want us to do?"

"Just launch an attack!" Cameron said. "We've got this." He gave Lucario a thumbs-up, and his Pokémon repeated the gesture with a confident smile.

"Okay…" Bianca sucked in her breath and ordered her first move. "Emboar, use Flamethrower!" Emboar breathed in deeply through his snout before unleashing a blast of red-hot flames. Cameron was ready.

"All right, Lucario, spin around and use Aura Sphere!" he ordered. Lucario's confidence in his trainer visibly faltered; he shot Cameron a confused look, but did not have time to question him with Emboar's imminent attack. The Fighting-type pressed his paws together, building up an Aura Sphere, then spun once around on his heel before unleashing his attack.

It missed. The sphere angled away from Emboar and hurtled toward another trainer on the adjacent field. The trainer yelped but managed to jump out of the way before he shot Cameron a dirty look. Lucario, meanwhile, only barely and rather unceremoniously managed to avoid Emboar's attack by diving out of the way.

Cameron sheepishly shouted an apology at the trainer before going to check on his Lucario.

"I don't think it quite works like that," Luke remarked, rubbing the back of his head.

"No, no," Cameron insisted, shaking his head as he helped Lucario up. "It's gotta work. Focus Blast is a special attack. Let's try again."

Bianca's Emboar readied himself for another Flamethrower when Cilan felt the ground shake ever-so-slightly beneath him. A sense of alarm lit up the end of his nerves.

"What was that?" he asked hurriedly, not watching as Lucario's attempted Aura Sphere Counter Shield failed a second time. He turned to Georgia worriedly, saying, "You felt that, didn't you?"

"It was probably just another dumbass trainer trying to use Aura Sphere as a Counter Shield," Georgia dismissed wryly.

Her flippant attitude did nothing to ease his sudden sense of dread. The slight quake in the earth was perhaps negligible—they were in a training arena, after all—but Cilan could not shake the feeling of _deja vu_. It was only days earlier he had felt similar quakes, and he could not understand why the others—namely, Georgia, Trip, and Burgundy—did not feel the connection. Cilan's eyes passed over them: Georgia was clearly unfazed, Trip was focused on the battle, and Burgundy…

There, Cilan paused. She was frowning, and her brow was furrowed as her uneasy gaze turned toward the ceiling above them.

"You need a different type of special attack," Trip said bluntly to Cameron. "Focus Blast clearly isn't the right type of move for this combination."

"Lucario doesn't _know_ any other special attacks," Cameron whined.

"Then you need a different Pokémon," Trip pressed.

"We're partners, though!" Cameron protested. "It would be best if he and I made it work—wouldn't it, Cilan?"

Cilan snapped his head toward Cameron.

"What?" he said, blinking.

"You're a Pokémon Connoisseur, right?" Cameron asked. "Lucario is my—what do you guys call it?—platinum brand? prime?"

"Premium brand," Cilan corrected.

"Right—so shouldn't he and I work it out?" Cameron asked. Cilan pressed his lips together, thinking.

"Well… sure," he agreed. "It might be possible for you and Lucario to achieve a Counter Shield using Aura Sphere. But you need to communicate with him—you need to utilize your bond with him as your premium to make it work. You're out of sync right now."

"Out of sync?" Cameron asked, half-offended.

"Let me see if I can demonstrate." Now choosing to ignore the tremor, Cilan pulled out a Pokéball and released his Pansage. He politely indicated Cameron should step aside, then asked for Stephan to take Bianca's place.

"Choose your Pokémon, Stephan," Cilan directed as they took the field while Bianca, Cameron, and their respective Pokémon cleared off it.

"Uh, sure…" Stephan said, taking out a Pokéball. "Go, Zebstrika!"

Zebstrika neighed and stomped his feet upon his appearance, but Stephan ordered him to hold tight as Cilan crossed into the field and kneeled beside his Pansage.

"All right, Pansage," he began. "I'd like us to try something new: It's called a Counter Shield. We're going to try your Energy Ball with it—but don't build it to full power. Release it in small bursts instead. Understand?"

"Pan-Pansage!" Pansage saluted his trainer, and Cilan smiled before rising to his feet and returning to his end of the field.

All right then," Cilan said. "Come at us, Stephan!"

"You got it!" Stephan agreed. "Zebstrika, use Flame Charge!"

Zebstrika dragged his hooves against the ground once, twice, to generate heat then launched forward in a fiery gallop.

"Pansage, do a jump-spin and use Energy Ball!" Cilan commanded. Passage rubbed his palms together, building the energy, and leapt up, at which point he began to unleash that energy—in small bursts like Cilan had said. It fired off in all directions, and Zebstrika was forced to stop in his tracks to avoid being hit.

Pansage landed on the ground again and glanced back at his trainer. "Pan?" he said, as if to inquire if he had done it right.

"Perfect!" Cilan commended, clapping his hands together.

"Wow, that was really great!" Bianca exclaimed, bounding up to the pair.

"Indeed," Cress agreed, joining them as well; he was soon followed by everyone else. "That was quite impressive."

"Thank you," Cilan said modestly as he lifted Pansage onto his shoulder. "It was just a simple matter of us talking to each other. Once we had the same goal and vision for achieving it, it wasn't too difficult to accomplish. You and your Pokémon have to understand each other and share the same purpose. You see, Cameron?"

"I do!" Cameron nodded. "All right, I'm ready to try ag—"

"—Excuse me," a young woman around their age cut in, grabbing their attention. Her sharp blue eyes, however, fixated solely upon Cilan. "You're Cilan Griffith, right?"

"I-I am," Cilan said, surprised. He recognized her from the Icirrus Pokémon Center. She was one of the few trainers staying there while they were. There was recognition in Trip, Burgundy, and Georgia's eyes as well.

"I need you to come with me," she said. "Something happened with Iris and Reshiram."

"What?!" Cilan's voice pitched so high it broke. "Is she—"

"—She's alive and conscious," the woman said quickly, "and she's asking for you."

"O-Of course." Cilan fumbled to return Pansage and follow her.

"Wait!" Georgia demanded, stopping them. "We're coming too."

"No," the woman refused. "She's only asking for Cilan."

"But we're her—" Georgia protested.

"—We're not arguing about this," the woman said more forcefully. "Come on, Cilan."

Cilan did a quick double-take between the woman and his group of friends but mouthed a genuinely apologetic "sorry" to them before leaving. He and the woman maintained a hurried pace as they went back into one of the tunnels leading to the upper level.

"What happened?" Cilan demanded.

"I wasn't there," the woman clarified. "Benga just told me to get you. She had some sort of meltdown when she saw Reshiram, and Benga had to step in to get it under control. She's in the hospital ward now, and Benga has Reshiram."

Cilan felt a sickening twist in his gut and walked faster. The hospital ward was not far: It was on the first floor, and he stayed on the woman's heels as she pushed the double doors open for them to enter. She led him past several other doors and pulled aside a passerby nurse.

"Where's Ajagara?" she asked bluntly.

"Room 112," the nurse answered. "Be warned: I administered a low-dosage sedative to bring her panic attack under control, but she is not happy to be here."

"Noted. Thank you."

Room 112 was easy to find—the sound of Iris arguing bled through the thin walls. At her voice, Cilan strode ahead of his guide and threw open the door. There, he found Iris at odds with Benga and Dr. Julius Fennel; she evidently wanted to leave, but Julius was holding her firmly by the shoulder and Benga was—with greater lenity—grasping her wrist.

"I'm fine," she insisted, her voice shaking with anger and a razor-thin edge of terror. "Let me go. I just had a moment, I'm fine, I want to go back and—"

"—Iris!" Cilan broke in.

"Cilan." The anger left her voice, and she stopped struggling against Benga and Julius. Cilan moved forward, brushing past Benga and sliding next to her on the edge of the bed as his hands gently cupped each side of her face.

"What happened?" he implored. Benga backed off and gestured for Julius to do the same. The woman who retrieved Cilan came to Benga's side, watching the reunited pair as closely as their leader.

"It was nothing," Iris insisted. "I just—I just had a moment. I saw his eyes, and I remembered what happened to my—" She stopped and looked away, recomposing herself. "But I'm fine, it was nothing."

"Happened to who?" Cilan asked.

"I don't—" Iris swallowed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Iris…" At the gentle utterance of her name, tears pricked at the edge of Iris's eyes, and she hastily moved her hand up to wipe them off. Cilan's thumbs caught a few strays.

"I failed them again." Her voice was breaking. "Them, and Drayden. I don't understand. _I_ should have been able to do it. I had another chance!" She was unraveling, but Cilan hushed her before she could become totally undone.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "You don't need to talk about it right now." She embraced him, and he kissed her atop her head as he, too, embraced her.

"So stupid," Cilan overheard Benga mutter to Julius then. The connoisseur's eyes flicked warily over to the leader, who then finished, "I should have known. She came out of her coma physically fine—but you don't walk away from that mentally unscarred." He turned to the woman next, saying, "Hilda, I'm going to need to see the other three."

Those "other three" were Trip, Georgia, and Burgundy. And Cilan would be the final interview

"I… I know she had a panic attack," Cilan said lamely, finally—though unsatisfactorily—responding to Benga's request. Benga waited a moment, expecting more, but Cilan remained tight-lipped, at which point Benga realized he would need to pry further.

"Burgundy said she's been having nightmares," Benga said. "Is that true?"

Cilan straightened up.

"Iris told _Burgundy_ that?" he said incredulously.

"Well—no," Benga admitted. "Burgundy said she can tell because of how restless Iris is in her sleep. But you'd probably know better."

"Why… Why is that?" Cilan asked cautiously.

"Well, for one, Georgia said you're best friends and that you… care a lot for each other," Benga said, suddenly choosing his words more carefully. "But… I also heard Iris cry out for you in a moment of vulnerability. I watched her fall into your arms while at the hospital. Maybe I'm reading into things the wrong way, but that tells me you two have a really _close_ relationship."

A heat climbed up Cilan's neck once he understood what Benga was implying.

"T-There's been no pillow talk of any sort between us, I can assure you," Cilan stammered out.

Benga cracked a half-amused smile at Cilan's embarrassment.

"Sorry. Had to ask," Benga said. "Still… You haven't noticed anything?"

Cilan, after pausing long enough to recollect himself, pressed his lips together.

"I…" He _did_ notice there were mornings she was not entirely herself. In particular, he remembered her admitting having a "weird dream" on the day they arrived in Nimbasa City. "Yes. She—" He stopped abruptly and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't feel comfortable discussing this behind Iris's back. I don't mean to be rude, sir, but it's not our business."

"I understand," Benga said quickly, throwing up his hands. "It's definitely not my style. But it becomes our business when it involves the security of Unova's future." Cilan clamped his mouth shut. Benga added with a tired smile, "Also, you don't need to call me 'sir.' It makes me sound old, and you and I are about the same age, you know? I'm just Benga."

"... Well, regardless, Benga," Cilan began again, "I don't think there's anything I can tell you that either Trip, Burgundy, or Georgia haven't already said. Iris and I _are_ close, but she's an independent spirit. She doesn't talk to me when she's having difficulties, and she's never disclosed what her nightmares are about—and I don't see how that's relevant."

"I'm not looking for information at this point," Benga corrected. "I'm looking for solutions." He paused. "She can't train Reshiram if she's not well, and frankly, she's not well. She won't talk to Julius, but… I do wonder if his sister could make a difference."

"Fennel," Cilan mumbled, now starting to get a sense of Benga's direction. "Munna can eat nightmares."

"Nightmares, day visions, bad memories—it really was amazing what she had been doing at the Dreamyard before it was destroyed by Team Plasma." He paused. "But it doesn't matter if Iris still refuses help. I've become convinced from what I've seen and from what your other friends have said that you're our best shot at getting Iris to accept help—if not from us, then from you."

"From… me?" Cilan blinked.

"From you," Benga affirmed.

"I'm not sure I understand," Cilan said. "Wanting me to talk Iris into accepting professional help is one matter. What could I do outside of that, though?"

Benga sucked in his breath.

"We're in some pretty dire straits, if you haven't realized," he said. "Team Plasma controls the Unova League. The only thing standing between them and total control of the region is us. We don't stand a chance without Reshiram, though. Therese's expertise from the Dreamyard and the therapy she could offer would only make the process easier for Iris. Either way, she _has_ to get back in there and bring Reshiram under control. And when she does, I want you to be there with her."

"Me?!" Cilan blanched. "W-What could I do?"

"You're an anchor to Iris," Benga said. "You help keep her level-headed. I think she needs you there physically in order to make this work. … And if nothing else, Trip said you're an expert Pokémon Connoisseur. Your understanding of the relationship between humans and Pokémon could prove invaluable."

Cilan's hands grasped the edges of his chair. He stared at Benga with a twinge of fear, now questioning if Benga was genuine in his proposition—or if this was an extension in his investigation.

Cilan tried to read into Benga's gaze but found no answers.

* * *

The click of the door sent a shudder of reminiscence through the had been two weeks since they had met like this—since the night following Reshiram's capture, when Iris had fallen comatose. They were finally in private, absent of all outsiders—and absent of Iris.

The same feeling hung over them now as it did then: uncertainty, accompanied by a dash of mistrust.

"So I'm guessing your meeting with Benga didn't go too well if you're calling us together like this," Trip remarked wryly. "What happened?"

Cilan's hand let go of the door handle as he sighed and turned to face him and the others, leaning back against the door as he did. His expression was grim.

"Benga asked me to go with Iris into her next training session with Reshiram," he said.

" _C'est pas vrai?_ " Burgundy said with a disbelieving breath. "Benga's already letting her go back?"

"That's not the point."

"You think Benga suspects you're the one who actually captured Reshiram?" Trip asked, understanding the main issue.

"I'm not sure." Cilan shook his head. He then paused and looked directly at Georgia, who wore a frown as she folded her arms. "Georgia—what did you tell Benga about my relationship with Iris?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Georgia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Please just answer the question," Cilan implored.

"I—said you were close?" Georgia replied with a shrug.

"Did you say that we were—" He stopped short and swallowed, grasping for an appropriate euphemism. "—intimate?"

"Sexually intimate?" Georgia suggested more bluntly, and the tips of Cilan's ears pinked. "No. Why, are you?"

"N-No," Cilan denied, recomposing himself. "But Benga seems to think so."

Georgia scoffed but said, "Well, you want to know what I said word-for-word? I said you're best friends and that you love each other. He brought it up. I don't know where he got the idea that you two are banging."

"Well, they did stay alone in the same rooms while traveling," Trip pointed out. Cilan was regretting bringing this up if only for how _exposed_ it made him feel.

"How would Benga know that?" Burgundy asked. "Iris rooms with Georgia, Bianca, and me now, and she was kept in a different room from Cilan when she was in her coma. So it's not like Virgil or that doctor would get any ideas either."

"Hilda," Cilan mumbled, suddenly realizing.

"Who's Hilda?" Georgia asked.

"That woman who came to get me when Iris went to the hospital ward—I've _seen_ her before. She was staying at the Icirrus Pokémon Center while we were there," Cilan said. "I… I think _she_ was the one to alert the Truth Seekers that we had captured Reshiram and that Iris was in a coma. It wasn't Nurse Joy or any of us."

"You saw her at the Icirrus Center?" Georgia asked, surprised. "I remember seeing her in Nimbasa. She had a Samurott, and she helped lead the effort to put out the fire at the PCA."

"I remember seeing her there, too," Burgundy said. "But—I saw her again after that. It was in Black City while we were watching the Team Plasma leader speak on television. She and Iris actually exchanged a few words. I-I didn't say anything or think anything of it then because I just thought…"

"I saw her in Striaton," Trip said in a low voice. "It was outside the burned-down gym right before my Herdier found you—" He inclined his head toward Cilan. "—and Iris. I even _talked_ to her because I was suspicious. She was just standing there. I asked her what she was doing, and she said the clerk of the shop she was just in told her and 'this other girl' that something had happened to the Striaton Gym."

A tense silence followed. They stared at one another with opened eyes as a collective revelation sank its teeth into them.

"We were followed," Georgia said, voicing what they were all thinking.

"Iris said Benga tried to recruit her at Drayden's funeral," Cilan recalled, rubbing his chin. "And Benga knew Iris was going after Reshiram because _Alder_ knew. Alder privately delivered Drayden's final letter to Iris."

Trip let out a long breath.

"Well, I guess you can clear your worries about Benga thinking you caught Reshiram," he said bitterly. "This is a classic case of confirmation bias. He's believed from the beginning Iris would capture Reshiram, so I doubt he thinks Cilan actually did it and that we're keeping it from him."

"This opens a whole other can of Wurmple, though," Georgia said. "I mean, Arceus, no wonder Iris doesn't like the Truth Seekers. I'm not exactly feeling too fuzzy about them myself right now."

Burgundy bit her bottom lip and looked at Cilan.

"What are you going to tell Iris?" she asked quietly. Cilan pressed a hand to his face.

"I don't know," he answered. "... I don't know."

"The truth?" Trip suggested as if it were obvious. Cilan lowered his hand, connecting his gaze with Trip's as he finished, "Isn't that the belief we all subscribe to here?"

* * *

The wood floor creaked as Cilan climbed into the inner base of the lighthouse, and he flinched at the sound. Despite everything, he still considered himself a straitlaced man, and being here—a place where he was not supposed to be—made him nervous. He more carefully closed the trapdoor before turning his attention to the spiraling staircase.

Near the top of his ascent, he stopped at seeing Iris ahead. She was seated on a step in front of the door that led into the lantern room, and she had Emolga on her lap.

"You're here," Cilan said with obvious surprise.

"The lamp's on," Iris said, flicking her head toward the closed door behind her. Cilan raised his eyes and squinted at the artificial light peeking through the frame. He did not realize it was dark out, but it was difficult to keep track of the sun when underground.

"I didn't mean that," Cilan corrected as he settled down beside Iris on the step. "I expected that I would arrive before you."

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do," Iris grumbled. "Benga has Reshiram, and he won't give him back to me until I'm—ugh, it's like I'm a child. It's so—" She stopped short and struggled for a word.

"—demeaning?" Cilan suggested.

"Yeah." A pause. Iris briefly moved Emolga aside (for which the Pokémon was _not_ happy) so she could retrieve a now slightly crumpled handwritten note. "So what's this about?" she asked, dangling the note in front of Cilan.

Cilan wetted his lips. He had slid the note to her earlier at dinner, requesting a private moment.

"It's—" He changed his mind and started again. "On the matter of Benga and Reshiram…"

"Oh, that's right," Iris said with a light of remembrance in her eyes. "You were meeting with him today, weren't you?" Without giving him the chance to answer, she sarcastically added, "So, what _secrets_ of mine did you tell?"

"I have no secrets of yours to give," Cilan said with a weak smile. "Aside from the obvious."

She quieted at that.

"Anyway," she said, "what did he have to say?"

"Well… he wants you working with Reshiram again," Cilan said, "but he has some conditions."

Iris perked up considerably at this news.

"Really?!" Her tone was initially excited, but a quick transformation followed. Suspicion fell across her expression. "But… why would he tell you that? If he wants me to start training Reshiram again, then _I_ should be the person he's talking to."

"It's because the condition is me," Cilan said. She gave him a questioning look, and he elaborated, "The condition is that I be there with you and Benga the next time you train."

Iris drew a shallow breath.

"Does he—?"

"—No," Cilan said, anticipating the question. "At least, I don't think so. Benga's justification is my expertise as a connoisseur and our friendship. He thinks my presence could be of help to you." Iris appeared unconvinced. Cilan swallowed. "There's—something else you ought to know."

Iris raised her eyebrows and indicated for him to go on. He took in a deep breath.

"I talked it over with the others. We believe we—you—were followed." He stopped, waiting for the angry outburst. Iris only stared blankly. "We didn't realize until we all spoke with one another. We all saw the same woman at different points on our journey from Nimbasa to Icirrus."

"... What does she look like?" Iris asked. Her voice was surprisingly even.

"Wavy brown hair, blue eyes," Cilan described. "Her name is Hilda. Burgundy said you talked to her at one point while in Black City? … She was also the one who took me to meet you in the hospital ward. She was in the room."

Iris pressed her lips hard together in thought, straining to recall a face. Then, she let out a short, bitter laugh, catching Cilan off guard.

"Ugh, I should have known," she said. "Of course Benga wouldn't have let me out of his sight once he knew what Drayden told me." She rubbed a hand against her face tiredly. Now it was Cilan's turn to stare. Iris noticed and dropped her hand back down. "What?"

"You're taking this much better than I would have expected," Cilan said. "I thought you would be upset."

"I _am_ upset," Iris corrected, "but I'm also not surprised." Iris took out Emolga's Pokéball and returned her. "Well, if that's everything—" she said as she stood up.

"Iris?" Cilan interjected.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"Is—?" Cilan hesitated. "Is this sort of thing the reason why you don't like the Truth Seekers?"

He couldn't help but ask. Her personal detestment of the group had for so long been a mystery to him—and at times a source of suspicion about her loyalties—but if this type of behavior was the reason, then he could understand.

Yet, she locked her eyes with his and said, "Not even close."

Cilan furrowed his eyebrows with confusion, and Iris quickly sucked in her breath and turned away. She obviously did not want to discuss it further.

"I'm going to talk to Benga myself," she announced before starting her way down the stairs.

"Wait." Cilan jumped to his feet, and Iris stopped. "I—I have a condition too."

"Wh— _What?_ " Iris quickly turned back toward him, confused and half-angry.

"I—" He straightened up, searching for some sense of authority in himself. "I want you to see Therese Fennel. Benga said you're refusing to see her, but he thinks her therapy could be beneficial to you. I think that too."

"That's… none of your _or_ Benga's business," Iris said, her voice falling dangerously low with warning.

"I know this is uncomfortable to talk about, but I bring it up because I'm your friend and I care about you," Cilan pressed. "What happened with you and Reshiram was traumatic, and on top of everything else… You do a very good job at hiding it, but I know you're hurting. It will only continue to get worse, and you can't train Reshiram when you're like this. You'll have another meltdown."

Iris now appeared downright offended.

"Cilan, remember how I told you that you have this habit of condescending to me? This is one of those times," she snapped. "I don't need you dictating how I should take care of myself."

"And I told _you_ that you have a tendency to be stubborn," Cilan shot back. "This is one of those times. You _know_ Therese. Her brother is a different story, but this is Therese."

"My answer is no." Iris stood her ground.

"Then I won't go in with you and Reshiram," Cilan said, his voice flicking up an octave. "I won't comply with you continuing to do this to yourself."

"That's not an option you have," Iris said bluntly, and Cilan mentally stumbled. "Yeah, I'm sure Benga would like me to see Therese, but that's not happening, and he still needs me to train Reshiram. He'll twist your arm before he twists mine—unless you're _really_ willing to defy the leader of the Truth Seekers."

Cilan was silent but simmering with frustration. He knew she was right.

"That's what I thought," Iris finished, and she turned again.

* * *

The following day, Iris and Cilan came to Benga separately. He was waiting at the center of the bottom floor as he had before, and he grinned upon seeing Cilan, the first to arrive.

"Morning," Benga greeted with a two-finger salute.

"Good morning," Cilan replied evenly. Benga suddenly furrowed his eyebrows.

"No Iris?" he inquired. "I thought you would've come together."

"Ah, no. She'll come though," Cilan replied, though he prefered not to explain why they were apart. He suspected Benga knowing they had fought would do no good.

As it turned out, he did not need to explain anything.

"So she _is_ mad at you?" Benga said, and Cilan flinched. "I should've known. She chewed me out yesterday for bringing up Therese to you. … Sorry I put you in that situation. Don't worry though. She'll get over it. She cares too much about you, and I think the person she's really mad at is me."

He let out a short, sheepish laugh then and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. Cilan stared, suddenly feeling conflicted. He couldn't grasp it: Benga was so likeable in conversation that it made it difficult to believe any of the deceit they suspected of him—and even if his duplicity was real, his good nature almost made it feel forgivable.

Benga dropped his hand again.

"Ah, I really screwed this up, huh?" he said. "No matter what I do, I can't seem to win with Iris."

Cilan understood the feeling.

"You can start by being honest with her," he suggested. If Benga took offense, he did not show it.

"I'm as honest with Iris as I can be," he said smoothly. Cilan doubted that. Gathering up his courage—Iris's sharp words from yesterday serving as an impetus—he challenged the leader.

"What about Virgil?" Cilan asked, though he still maintained a polite tone. Then, feeling even braver, he added, "Or Hilda?"

Cilan watched Benga closely, waiting to see some sort of break in his expression, some sort of mental faltering. But none appeared.

"Oh, you know Hilda, huh?" Benga asked.

"No, but… I've seen her," Cilan said carefully. Still no reaction.

"Great gal," Benga remarked. "She reminds me of Iris, kind of. Keep this between us, but she's actually our informant."

"Informant?" Cilan perked up.

"She knows N, the son of Ghetsis and the new Champion in Unova," Benga said. "A lot of what we know about Team Plasma comes from her. … Well, anyway, what about her and Virgil?"

Cilan withered under Benga's questioning gaze, losing just enough surety of self to halt his probe.

"Nothing," Cilan said in a half-mumble. "I was just curious about…" He could not conjure up a convincing answer that would erase his original intentions, so he merely finished, "It's nothing."

To Cilan's relief, Iris arrived at that moment.

"Good morning!" Benga said jovially to her as she approached.

"Where is he?" Iris demanded without any regard for his greeting. Benga remained good-spirited, smiling as he reached into his pocket and pulled out Reshiram's Pokéball. She quickly and protectively reclaimed it.

"Let's get going then, shall we?" Benga said, gesturing toward the elevator. He led them inside, at which point he flipped open a cover and entered a numeric code into a keypad on the wall. The elevator jolted into movement, as did Cilan. They were moving backward, not up or down.

"Wh—Where are we going?" he asked. "Reshiram is quite a large Pokémon. Where do we train underground?"

"A good question." Benga grinned. "Luckily, the old Truth Seekers thought that out long before I had to."

"The… The old Truth Seekers?" Cilan blinked.

"It's called the Chamber of Truth," Benga went on explaining. "It was built specifically for Reshiram around 260 years ago—for the first war."

The first war. Cilan realized he meant the Great Unovan War, the war which marked the beginning of modern Unova and became the source for most of the region's lore. His eyes widened.

"Vero Albinus founded the Truth Seekers," Iris added bitterly, a key elaboration that flipped Cilan's understanding of the Truth Seekers entirely.

He stared at her then jerked his head forward.

"How did I not know that… ?" he mumbled. " _I_ should have known that."

"Gotta wonder what that old geezer would think if he knew someone like me was in charge of the Truth Seekers," Benga half-laughed. "He's probably rolling over in his grave now, I bet." He laughed again and looked at Iris expectantly, but she remained unamused, and Cilan grew confused. It was like there was some sort of joke he was not in on.

The elevator came to a stop. Benga lifted the metal grate.

The chamber was more intimately sized than Cilan would have expected. It was not small by any means, but when compared with the enormity of the training arena in the deep underground, the space was far less impressive. A large circular platform was mounted at the center of the room, and as they climbed the few steps leading up to it, Cilan noticed the same phrase engraved in a circular pattern near the on the outer vertical edges: _veritas omnia vincit_.

A faded blue light filtered in from above. Cilan looked up at the high ceiling and was astonished to see a school of Basculin swimming above them. They were no longer beneath the island; they were beneath the ocean. He gasped inaudibly.

"Is—Is this safe?" he asked. "We're underwater. If something were to happen with Reshiram, and we were to lose control…"

"I told you already," Benga said with a grin, "the old Truth Seekers already thought this out. Sure, we're underwater, but Reshiram is part Fire-type. Trust me, it has no interest in drowning either."

The arrangement struck Cilan as disconcerting—perhaps even unethical. Iris was tense as well. She evidently did not care for the justification either.

"Well, when you're ready Iris," Benga said, indicating she should step forward. She pressed her lips into a hard line but moved to the center of the platform regardless, brandishing Reshiram's Pokéball as she did.

Cilan held his breath.

Iris held out the Pokéball and spoke directly to it.

"Let's try this again," she said with only a slight tremor in her voice. "Reshiram, I want to talk to you."

The ball opened, and a brilliant white light burst forward. Reshiram materialized before them, bathed in the filtered blue rays of the ocean, and he let out a ferocious roar. Iris stumbled backward, her hands immediately flying to her ears. Benga pulled Cilan back by the shoulder to give more space to Iris and the Legendary Pokémon.

"Reshiram… I…" Iris started, but she could finish no coherent thought. He looked down at her, his eyes alight with a blue fire, and she shrunk further back. Her breathing was already growing labored.

"She's slipping again," Benga said. "This is how it happened last time."

Cilan looked at him as he spoke, then sucked in his breath and jerked his head back to Reshiram and Iris.

"Iris!" he called out to her. She tensed up but did not turn. "Don't forget yourself."

She looked at him then, her eyes clouded with fear—with a bad memory?—but the connection of their gazes brought her back to the present.

"Right." She nodded and looked back at Reshiram, who now, Cilan realized, had fixated its cyan glare upon the connoisseur. Cilan breathed in sharply and backed up a few steps; Benga looked at him with surprise then redirected his attention to Iris.

"Reshiram—" she started more firmly before effortlessly slipping into some mysterious tongue Cilan could not understand. Reshiram lowered its gaze from Cilan, settling its sights on the young woman before it.

"It's… It's listening," Benga whispered in amazement. "It's actually listening! This could work!"

Cilan did not share his excitement. Fear and utter bewilderment had arrested him. Fear, because of the massive beast that shared his breath, a beast that could end all three of their lives at any moment. Bewilderment, because he had never heard Iris talk in this manner before. She had concealed this gift from him in the five years they had known each other, and he did not know why.

A low, guttural sound crawled up Reshiram's throat. Iris shuddered, but maintained her composure and went on speaking.

"What are they saying?" Cilan asked Benga quietly. Benga shrugged.

"Only the Dragon Master and Dragon can understand each other," he said.

Iris issued a few more hesitant words before outstretching her hand high above her. Reshiram warily shook his head left to right, but with further encouragement from Iris, he began to lower himself.

Lower…

Lower still…

… until Iris could touch the side of his face.

Benga and Cilan, who had been waiting with bated breath, let out a massive sigh of relief in unison. Benga turned and grinned at Cilan, who reciprocated with a weaker smile. Iris, though her breath was still shaking, seemed more relaxed herself as she moved her hand up his snout.

The move was too sudden, and Reshiram recoiled back with a booming reprisal. Iris gasped and stumbled back; Reshiram flared its wings in response, and the arena sweltered with heat as its tail ignited. Benga ripped out a Pokéball from his belt, sensing he would need to de-escalate the situation just as he had before—and fast.

But Cilan had already sprung into action. As Iris cried out a few more foreign words, Cilan dashed forward and placed himself between Iris and the Legendary Pokémon, yelling, "Stop!"

Reshiram halted at the connoisseur's open hand. The scene hung in tense suspension for a long moment—Benga's teeth gritted together with his Pokéball still in his hand, Iris working to catch the breath she had lost in her panic, Cilan looking firmly into the eyes of the Legendary Pokémon before him—and then Reshiram withdrew.

Benga lowered his arm. Cilan's chest, rigid with hot air, deflated. He turned toward Iris, who was still on the ground, before he, too, fell to his knees, and they embraced. They said nothing, but Iris's face disappeared into his shoulder, and her fingers fisted behind him in the fabric of his shirt.

Benga looked on expressionless for a moment before going to retrieve Reshiram's Pokéball, which Iris had dropped in the chaos. He kneeled next to the couple, drawing their wary gazes to him as he held the Pokéball out to Iris.

"I knew it," he said with a winsome smile. "I knew you could do it together."

Cilan furrowed his eyebrows, amazed—and angry—Benga could consider this a success. Iris, however, sucked in her breath and accepted the Pokéball. She broke away from Cilan, staggered to her feet, and held the ball out toward Reshiram.

"Return."

* * *

There was a number of small, unoccupied, and seemingly meaningless rooms in the mile below Liberty Garden's surface—but the existence of the dim one in which Iris and Cilan now sat had been infused with new purpose as they waited in silence.

Iris stared hollow-eyed ahead of her. Reshiram's Pokéball rested comfortably in her pocket, as she still refused to part with him. Cilan shifted uneasily in the seat beside her. He could tell that, despite her reticence, there was an awful lot on her mind, and he was once again at a loss at what he could do.

He struggled with himself for a while, then feebly covered her hand with his own. Regardless of his timidity, his touch ignited life in her eyes again, and she looked at him.

"You're doing the right thing," he assured her.

Iris found the words uninspiring. She looked away again and withdrew her hand.

"Do you know the story of the Tao Trio?" she asked.

Cilan blinked at the sudden change of topics.

"... Yes?" he answered, though perplexed. Of course he had. Everyone in Unova had.

"But do you _really_ know it?" Iris forcefully pressed.

"Do you want me to recount it for you?" Cilan asked wearily.

"No… that's not what I meant…" Iris trailed off, and for a moment, Cilan believed she would drop the topic altogether. Then she sucked in her breath and continued, "I mean, do you know the history behind it?"

"I know the legend has historical basis, yes," Cilan said. "It's derived from the journals of Vero Albinus. He represents the Hero of Truth in the legend."

Iris seemed somewhat impressed.

"And the Chieftain… ?" she prompted him. "What was his name?"

"His name? He… " Cilan struggled for it, and disappointment crossed her face once again.

"Taima," she said flatly. "His name was Taima." Cilan's failure to invoke the second hero's name was evidently a bitter letdown, and he winced. Iris averted her gaze before she continued, "His story has been passed down among my people for centuries now."

"You mean the Draconid?" Cilan asked carefully. Iris nodded and drew her arms around herself.

"He could speak to Dragons, too," she said. "He was the greatest Dragon Master that ever lived. He shared a special relationship with the Great Dragon before it was torn apart." Iris glanced away. "He died in the war, but his gifts were passed on to his descendents."

She wetted her lips. Her uncertainty of how to further proceed became obvious, but Cilan's attentiveness was reassuring.

"In fact, a little more than ten years ago… one of his descendents used that connection to stop Kyurem when he froze Unova over," she went on. Iris looked directly at him. "I wasn't very old then. Neither were you. But you remember don't you? The summer when it snowed?"

"I have memories of it," Cilan conceded. Memories, however, were all. He was so young—only 7 or 8, not even a trainer—and so naïve that he saw none of the forthcoming disasters in it: the fears of crop failures, food shortages… It was merely Christmas come early.

Satisfied, Iris sucked in her breath to continue.

"Well, she and her husband successfully calmed down Kyurem," she said, now choosing her words carefully. "But they died doing it, and they left behind a 5-year-old daughter."

The years subtracted themselves immediately in Cilan's mind. His chest tightened, and his eyes went wide with realization.

"I'm their daughter," Iris said, confirming his belief. "And also the only remaining descendant of Taima."

"Iris…" He reached out to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she subtly withdrew from him.

"That's why it's so important to me I get this right," she insisted, looking at her feet. "There's so much I have to live up to, and I want to do it. Drayden believed in me because he knew where I came from." Her voice faltered as she added, "But every time I see Reshiram's eyes… I can't get that night out of my head."

"The night you lost your parents?" Cilan asked softly. Iris remained quiet. "... Iris?" At his behest, she brought her gaze up to his again.

"Yes," she answered.

Silence. Cilan reached for her shoulder again, but this time, she did not resist—even as he brought their foreheads together. Still, the intimacy shook her, and her voice trembled when she said, "I-I don't know why I'm telling you this now. I always meant to." She let out a short, strange laugh then. "I, uh…" Another laugh. "I actually wrote it to you in a letter the night before we went to Dragonspiral Tower, but I tore it up. Then you told me yesterday about how you didn't have any secrets of mine to give up, and I realized I've never really been open with you. And we're supposed to be best friends!"

"We are," Cilan assured her. He leaned away from her, but his hands slid down her shoulders. "I'm glad you told me. I won't tell anyone else, either. But… Fennel…"

"She can help me with Reshiram," Iris said, already guessing where he was going with that thought. "I know." A pause. "But she doesn't need to know the rest. I just wanted you to know."

Cilan grasped her right hand with both of his.

"Your trust means a lot to me," he said. "And I won't betray it."

Her chest swelled at this promise.

"Cilan… I…" She was ready to say more, to bare the rest of her soul to him—to say why she hated the Truth Seekers, to explain everything, to confess what she had been feeling toward him recently—but she realized she did not want to speak then, and they drew closer together.

Cilan, however, verbose as he was, could not resist one last comment:

"It's funny, you know…" His breath was warm and inviting across her cheek. "Vero Albinus is, in fact, my ancestor."

Iris's eyes, half-lidded in anticipation, suddenly flew wide open, and she jumped to her feet.

"What?!" she said a little too loudly, and Cilan recoiled in shock, suddenly fearing he had said something woefully wrong.

"I—uh—" Cilan stammered in a wholly undignified manner.

"Are you really?" Iris demanded. "You're sure?"

"Well… yes," Cilan said, recomposing himself. "I've told you before the gym's been in my family for generations. It was started by Albinus's grandson. My father had an affinity for studying our family's history, and he was the one who drew the large family tree that's hanging— _was_ hanging—in the living room." He quickly added in this bitter emendation, and Iris remembered with stunning clarity the broken glass of the same framed document she had stepped over in the ruins of the Striaton Gym. "It's why I was so surprised to learn Vero Albinus started the Truth Seekers earlier today. I thought I would have been the one to know."

Iris stared slack-jawed, and Cilan could not fully grasp what amazed her so. What he did not understand was that, for the first time, _she_ was beginning to understand.

"Excuse our interruption." Iris and Cilan jumped and jerked their heads toward the door; they had been so occupied with each other that they had failed to notice not only Therese Fennel's, but also Aurea Juniper's entrance. Fennel's Munna hung over her shoulder.

"Professor Juniper! Professor Fennel," Cilan politely acknowledged them in spite of his surprise.

"What are you doing here, Professor Juniper?" Iris asked.

"I'm just here to assist Therese," Juniper answered. She smiled coyly before adding, "I will admit, though, I was interested in seeing you two again. … I would ask if you were doing well, though I suppose we wouldn't be here if you were."

"I'm fine," Iris suddenly insisted with a slight hardening in her voice. "I just…" She didn't know how to end the statement with dignity, so Cilan took up the task.

"Need a boost," he graciously offered, making it sound as casual as possible. Iris nodded.

"Well, Munna and I will be happy to help," Fennel said pleasantly. Her hand reached up to gently pet the side of her Pokémon, who responded with a contented hum. "We can get started right way."

Iris pursed her lips and fidgeted for a moment. Her eyes cautiously met Cilan's. He interpreted her restlessness as a sign she wanted him to leave. The process, he imagined, would leave her feeling more vulnerable than she already was, and she would not want him to see it.

"I ought to catch up with my brothers," he said after clearing his throat, glancing at Fennel and Juniper.

He did not catch the break of incredulity that crossed her face when he said this. She frowned even as he turned toward her again. He stopped before her and hesitated, wondering what he should do—hug her? kiss her cheek?—he settled for a gentle squeeze of her shoulder.

Iris did not reject the gesture, but she did not seem to respond to its warmth either. She only looked directly at him, saying, "I need to talk to you later."

"Su… Sure," he agreed. He left in haste, and Iris sucked in her breath before facing Fennel and Juniper head-on.

"Are you ready?" Fennel asked, maintaining her calm demeanor. Iris let out a short breath through her nostrils.

"Let's just get this over with."

* * *

The cafeteria was abustle with the dinner rush. The line was miserably long, and Cilan always balked at the menu, so he skipped food and headed straight for the table his company usually occupied. He lacked a proper appetite at the moment anyway.

The mounted televisions, as usual, were turned to a news station. It struck Cilan as _un_ usual, however, that the channel was turned to Unova Broadcasting Company rather than Unova Central News, the typical source of news among the Truth Seekers.

"Why UBC now and not UCN?" Cilan asked, addressing the entire group, as he slid into an open seat beside Cameron. Cress shrugged.

"We've heard the Truth Seekers now believe UCN might be controlled by Team Plasma," he explained.

"Ah."

"I believe it," Trip remarked. "This morning, there was a special feature on new research about the negative effects of Pokéball usage."

"What research? From where?" Cilan raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think they said," Luke replied.

"Of course it didn't," Burgundy griped.

The collective interest of the group, and therefore the direction of the conversation, quickly shifted upon notice that Iris was absent. By then, they all knew―in fact, probably _everyone_ in the Truth Seekers knew―that the Striation City Gym Leader Cilan would be accompanying Iris in her continued efforts to tame Reshiram, and they were anxious to hear the results.

"So… anyway…" Chili started, trying to sound casual. "How did it go today? Where's Iris?"

"She's fine," Cilan hastily said. "She's…" He tried to come up with a believable alibi—it would not be right to share Iris's true whereabouts and betray her privacy—and finally settled on the most straightforward option. "... still with Benga. As for Reshiram, it… went okay."

"Define 'okay,'" Georgia said. Cilan wetted his lips.

"He listened," was all he said. He did not specify _whom_ Reshiram listened to, however, and he hoped none asked for clarification. His company appeared excited by this news.

"That's great!" Stephan said, exchanging grins with the others. "That means if Team Plasma attacks, then—"

All televisions sets in the cafeteria suddenly went off-air, replaced by a strip of colors. An extended, sharp hum echoed throughout the whole area, halting all conversations as the entire hall clapped their hands to their ears.

"What's happening?" Bianca panicked. Her question was quickly answered: The broadcast returned, with a new face. At a plain, wooden desk in front of a nondescript background sat a young man with long, pale green hair and hollow blue eyes.

A shocked yelp tore through the stunned silence several tables down. Cilan whipped his head toward the outburst and saw that Hilda had jumped to her feet, her hands slammed flat on the table, while she stared wide-eyed at the television screen.

" _Hello,_ " said the mysterious figure on the television. His voice had an ethereal, airy quality to it. " _My name is N, your new Champion._ " A collective gasp, an alarmed murmur, and a chorus of hushes followed. " _I am so humbled and happy to be your new leader. I look toward a grander future for Unova, where Pokémon are able to live freely and humanity lives free of sin._ "

Bianca's breath shook. Stephan put a comforting hand on her back, whilst Georgia touched her upper arm. However, no one's gaze left the screen.

" _We are aware there those who still oppose us and this vision of a new, beautiful existence,_ " N continued. " _Do not worry, though. We know where they are—_ " The dream-like clouds in his eyes changed, hardening into something more sinister. "— _and we are coming for them now_."

Nothing else mattered in the rest of the speech. At a different table, Clay sprung to his feet, roaring, "That was a declaration of war!" A fevered fracas rose among the trainers at the notion, but Lenora seized upon the moment before chaos could utterly erupt.

"Do not panic!" she said, standing on a table. "If they are coming, then let them come! We are ready. Take your Pokémon, go to the central tunnel, and wait for further orders."

* * *

Iris twiddled her thumbs uneasily as she lay flat on her back on an examination table, staring blankly at the ceiling. Juniper and Fennel had been consulting with each other for a while, and Iris had lost interest in trying to decipher their jargon several minutes earlier. Instead, her attention had turned back to Cilan's admission that he was a descendant of Vero Albinus.

Iris's toes curled at the thought, and her stomach churned slowly. It was still difficult to wrap her mind around. She wished Cilan hadn't left; she wanted to talk to him more about it. She supposed the quicker she finished the session, the quicker she could find him.

At a lull in Juniper and Fennel's conversation, Iris cleared her throat.

"So… how does this work?" she asked.

"Oh…" Fennel rejoined Iris, sliding into a chair at her side. "It is a difficult process, but it is an effective one." Iris nodded slowly to her, indicating she should go on. "You will need to recall the memory in explicit detail. Every sight, every sound, every smell… everything you can remember. That's the painful part: reliving it. But once you're at that point, Munna—" She gestured to the Pokémon hovering above her shoulder "—can consume it and remove it from you forever."

"Forever… ?" Iris repeated.

"Forever," Fennel affirmed.

"So I won't be able to remember it at all?"

"No." Fennel shook her head.

The thought disturbed Iris, somehow. Yet, she could not put words as to why. The night her parents died, the night Kyurem nearly froze her to death, had haunted her since a young age. Of course she should want that awful memory removed. It had become a major hindrance to her as a Dragon Master.

Juniper sensed Iris's internal conflict and asked, "Is… that all right by you, Iris?"

Iris wetted her lips and looked away. Then, with resolution, she looked back at the two women and said, "Yes, it's fine. I'm ready."

Fennel smiled and rose again.

"Good. Then let's get started." She beckoned for Munna to come closer, then placed the Pokémon left of Iris's profile while Fennel remained on the right. She settled down again, folding her hands in her lap. "Go ahead, close your eyes. I'll talk you through it." Iris did so. "Where are you taking us?"

"The night of my parents' death," she answered shortly. A short beat of solemn silence followed. Juniper exchanged an uneasy look with Fennel; neither had expected this. Still, Fennel pressed forward.

"How old were you?" she gently asked.

"Five," Iris said.

"Set the scene for us."

Iris took in a deep breath.

"It was in the middle of the summer—but it was snowing," she explained. "Kyurem was the cause. My parents were Dragon Masters, and they wanted to stop it. They wanted to leave me behind, but they couldn't. So they had to take me. We started up the mountain."

"What mountain?"

"Mount Taima," Iris answered. "It's north of the Village of Dragons."

"What was it like?

"Very cold." A shiver ran up Iris's spin at the thought. "Every part of me felt numb. My father had to carry me because I could barely move on my own."

"And what happened on the journey?"

Iris was prepared to jump straight into the encounter with Kyurem: the emerging figure through the thick veil of snow, the guttural growls that echoed in her ears, her mother's voice breaking through the intensifying storm to speak in the language of Dragons, the yellow glow of Kyurem's eyes… but she stopped. No. There was something before that.

"We ran into a man," Iris said. "He was wearing a white uniform with blue trim. I think that was why it was so hard to see him with the storm."

"What did he do? What was he there for?"

"He tried to stop us. He got into a battle with my mother and her Salamence. I don't remember it very well, because my father was shielding me from it." A pause. Iris struggled for a moment before adding, "I… I think my mother killed him."

"... Who was he?" Fennel asked quietly after a moment.

"I don't know." A detail struck her. "He had a symbol on his shirt. It was a black and white shield with a P in front of it." Her breath grew shallow. "He was a member of Team Plasma. It was their fault. _All_ of it was their fault."

A loud, but distant booming sound above them halted the session. Iris's eyes flew upon, and she sat up. Tiny specks of rubble fell from the ceiling.

"What was that?" Iris asked.

"I-I don't know," Juniper answered.

"Perhaps someone's training?" Fennel suggested.

The door slammed open. A brunette hurried inside.

"We're under attack!" she exclaimed.

"Under attack?!" Juniper repeated. "From who?"

"Team Plasma. They have an airship above Liberty Garden, and it sounds like they just dropped some kind of explosive on us," the woman quickly explained. "N, the new Unova Champion that Ghetsis put in place, took over a news broadcast and said they were coming for us."

Iris rose up, staring. Curly brown hair, blue eyes… This was the woman Cilan described, Hilda. And Iris _did_ recognize her. She had seen her twice, she realized: once from behind in Striaton City, and once in Black City.

She shook all that away. That wasn't important right now.

"Do they have Zekrom with them?" Iris asked.

"I don't know." Hilda shook her head, and Iris fell back with a deep frown.

"How did they find us?" Fennel questioned, aghast.

"It doesn't matter now." Hilda turned back to Iris. "You—You need to come with me and bring Reshiram." She grabbed Iris's wrist as she spoke, but Iris quickly wrested control away.

"For what?" she demanded.

"For—?!" Hilda appeared incredulous. "We're at war right now! Benga needs you in the situation room."

Iris sucked in her breath. Her mind was running faster than it ever had, and the words spilled out before she was even sure of them, "Tell Benga he'll have to wait. I'm going up to the lighthouse. Find Cilan and make sure he meets me there."

"But—"

"Just do it!" Iris asserted before bolting out the door.

* * *

Mayhem. That was the one word that came to mind when Cilan, having been singled out from among his friends and dragged away by Elesa, was ushered into the situation room, the same where Benga had interviewed him only yesterday morning.

The dozen screens that hung on the wall were no longer attuned to quiet scenes across Unova, however; they had changed to offer a full view of the danger coming straight toward them: a literal airship, with enormous masts that rose a hundred feet in the air and powered by some type of rocket technology. It was accompanied by smaller ships of a similar nature.

It was breathtaking and terrifying.

Only one screen was tuned in to the broadcast N had overtaken; he was still speaking, though no one was listening.

"What was that explosion?" Cilan asked Benga, who stood erect at the center of the room, his eyes locked on the screen.

"It looks like they dropped some Voltorb and Electrode on the island," Benga said, pointing to a screen showing images of blackened, detonated Pokémon. "Deplorable," he spat. "And they say they're advocates of Pokémon."

"Voltorb and Electrode cannot produce explosions strong enough to cause any real damage," Elesa said. "Not like a real bomb, at least."

"I know." Benga nodded. "That's why it's deplorable. These are cheap scare tactics at Pokémon's expense. They're trying to flush us out of here. They probably don't know the way in."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Lenora demanded. "Wait it out?"

"We could…" Benga mused.

"I don't know if I trust the structural integrity of this place enough to stay put," Clay said. "You say those explosions aren't strong enough to cause all this to collapse, but the whole place shook on the first drop."

Benga chewed on his bottom lip, wracking his brain for the best solution.

"Then we evacuate," he decided. "There's a one-way route from here into the city. They won't know we've left, and we can surprise them with Reshiram from behind." He cast a pointed gaze at Cilan, who straightened up in response. The door opened, and Hilda slid inside.

"Good, you're—" Benga stumbled on his words upon seeing she was alone. "Where's Iris?"

"She went to the lighthouse," Hilda said. "She said to send Cilan."

Benga's face blanched.

"Dammit," he hissed, pressing both hands to his head. "That girl… Okay, new plan. Still issue the evacuation order. I trust Iris plans to take them head-on, and we'll let her. It'll be better for us. While Team Plasma is distracted, we'll surprise them from behind."

Cilan's chest swelled with horror.

"That's a death sentence," he vehemently protested. "She and Reshiram alone cannot hold _that_ —" He pointed to the airship. "—off long enough for you to mount a counterstrike."

Benga looked directly at him, unmoved.

"Well, then I suppose you ought to go help her." Cilan stared in shock. It was the first callous thing he had heard Benga say. Suddenly, all his complicated feelings toward the young leader fell away, and he genuinely hated him in that moment.

Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do and no time to waste. Cilan scrambled away, toward the lighthouse.

* * *

Iris stood motionless among the display of shattered glass and pieces of debris, her gaze turned toward the gaping hole near the top of the lighthouse. She could see the airships hovering above, but they could not see her—not yet, at least.

Surprisingly, she felt calm. Fear, mixed with adrenaline, had driven her up there. Once she made it, however, her anxieties fell away. Now, she was simply waiting with a Pokéball clutched tightly in her hand, the warm sea breeze ruffling her hair.

"Iris!" The call was distant at first, but Iris knew who it was. She sucked in her breath and still waited. It came again: "Iris!"

The trapdoor flung open, and Cilan climbed inside. He was mess: hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily from sprinting. Iris looked over her shoulder, but did not turn as he staggered to his feet. He saw the enormous airships above them, and his breath momentarily caught; he quickly shook away his own bewilderment, however, and went straight to Iris's side.

"Iris, I know what you're thinking, and it's crazy," he said. "You can't go through with this!"

She did not react.

"You said you know the legend of the Tao Trio, right?" she asked evenly.

"What—?!" Cilan was flabbergasted. "This is not the time for that!"

Iris slowly turned to face him, her lips spreading into a strange smile, one Cilan had never seen before. He found himself stepping back in alarm.

"You know, before I left the Village of Dragons on my journey to find Reshiram…" she started. "The elder reminded me that only the Hero of Truth can control Reshiram, while only the Hero of Ideals can control Zekrom. I told her that was just part of the legend. But it's not. It's real."

"I—I don't follow," Cilan said.

"I could never control Reshiram," Iris said, slowly lifting the Pokéball—Reshiram's Pokéball—up with both her hands, "because I'm not the Hero of Truth. You are."

Cilan reeled back.

"That's—I am no such thing!" he denied. "Iris, you're having delusions of grandeur. What you're talking about, it isn't real!"

For the first time in that conversation, she looked angry.

"It is!" Iris insisted, more forcefully holding Reshiram's Pokéball out toward him. "I'm the descendent of Taima, the Hero of Ideals! You're the descendant of Vero Albinus, the Hero of Truth! I can't control Reshiram—but you can! You captured him—"

"—Stop!—"

"—He listened to _you_!"

"— _Stop!_ " Cilan grabbed her shoulders. "I'm not the Hero of Truth. And even if I were, what would you have me do? I can't speak to Dragons, I can't—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "Listen. Benga is having us evacuate the island. We're heading into the city. Please, just come. Just come, we can finish this conversation later, you'll _die_ here—" He was pleading by then, but Iris shook her head.

"No," she said. "I have to go. Take Reshiram with you." She tried to press the Pokéball into his hand once more, but he rejected it.

"I can't—" Cilan started. Iris's chest swelled with frustration, and she was ready to yell. But she stopped herself.

"Fine," she said, quieter. "Fine." She reached into her pockets and pulled out her other Pokéballs—Fraxure, Emolga, Excadrill, Gabite, and Noivern—and held those out to him instead. "Take these. Someone will need to take care of them."

Cilan took in a shuddery breath.

"Iris, I won't let you do—"

"—Do you trust me?" Iris cut him off.

"What?"

"Do you trust me, Cilan?" she repeated. Her gaze was firm, but questioning. Cilan felt a dozen emotions rise in his throat, fear most prominent among them, but he swallowed them.

"I—I do," he said quietly, with resignation.

"Then please do this for me," Iris said. He nodded and took her other Pokémon, securing them in his front pocket. Iris took a small step forward. "Tell Benga to go through with the evacuation as planned. You need to stay safe. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Her next move was swift, wonderful, and wholly unexpected. With another step, Iris propelled herself forward. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, and she kissed him. He was stunned; his hands flailed for a moment before they found their place on her back, where he could pull her closer. Her hand, meanwhile, slid down from his neck, down his chest, further still… and in his daze, he did not notice it slip into his pocket.

They broke apart. Their chests were heaving, their cheeks pinked, and they both looked a little surprised that had actually happened. Nevertheless, Iris moved back.

"Go," she said, her voice trembling. "I'll see you again soon."

Cilan nodded and hurried back down the trapdoor. Once certain he was gone, Iris turned toward the opening in the lighthouse, toward the airships, while enlarging the sole Pokéball in her possession.

"Go, Noivern!"


	9. What Stretches

**Chapter IX: What Stretches**

 _Eventually, we saw the tape. We knew then._

* * *

Cilan felt bile rise in his throat the moment his nose met the stench of the sewers. Of course, the smell had still been repulsive the last time he passed through the underground tunnels, but it seemed so much worse now. The sense of dread coiling in his stomach amplified his nausea and dizzied his head.

Focus. He needed to focus. He needed to find the others. He needed to find Benga.

Cilan wove through the stream of refugees, looking, _looking_ for a familiar face. His mind was scrambling for a plan, for _something_. Iris had said she needed him to trust her, and he did. Or, at least, he was trying. He couldn't amble along doing nothing, however.

Finally, he spotted a sheath of short magenta hair ahead. It was Georgia, he was certain. Cilan pushed more forcefully past the other evacuees, making his way toward her. He reached out to tocuh her shoulder, and she tensed under his hand before spinning around.

"Cilan!" she said in alarm. The others, previously invisible among the ever-shifting crowd, turned too.

"Where'd you go?" Luke asked. "We lost you in the cafeteria."

"Benga found me," Cilan said quickly. "He sent me to find Iris. She's—" He paused only to catch his breath. He hadn't realized it, but he had been running. "She's taking on Team Plasma herself."

" _Quelle?!_ " Burgundy expostulated. "With Reshiram?"

"Yes." Cilan nodded. "I think—I think she intends to save Zekrom."

Trip let out a long breath. "Is she insane?" he hissed. "Did she learn nothing from last time? She's going to get herself killed."

"Does Benga know?" Bianca asked, panicked.

"Benga _condoned_ it," Cilan answered. "He's sending us to mount an attack on Team Plasma from behind while she attacks with Reshiram from the front. S-She can't control Reshiram fully though." His fluster was truly beginning to set in, and it infected his companions with similar fears.

"Then we must go help her," Cress declared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Pokéball, enlarging it—but another hand reached out and pressed against his wrist, stopping him.

"You can't." It was Virgil. He, too, was ruddy-faced from running. The group recoiled in surprise at his sudden appearance.

"What're you—" Cameron started.

"I saw it. Team Plasma retreated," Virgil continued. "The airships are gone." There was a perceptible hardness in his voice when he added, "And our cameras caught Iris being dropped off on one of their ships by a Noivern."

There was a change in the air, from resolution to suspicion. The implications of his words were bad; there was no two ways about that. Yet, Cilan felt a pit form in the bottom of his stomach for reasons completely different than those of his companions.

"N-Noivern?" he stammered. He vigorously shook his head. "No—No, that can't be!" His hand plunged into his front pocket, pulling out the Pokémon Iris had entrusted to him. He counted them one by one: Fraxure, Excadrill, Emolga, Gabite, and—

Cilan gasped aloud. The last Pokéball slipped from his fingers and rolled across the ground. Georgia caught it right before it slid into the sewage.

"Wh—What's wrong?" Chili asked in alarm, seeing Cilan's face pale. Georgia straightened up.

"This…" she started incredulously, answering for him. "This is Reshiram's Pokéball."

They all stood there in a stunned silence, staring at one another—and at the Pokéball cupped in Georgia's hand.

A roar echoed down the sewer tunnel, followed by a chain of surprised yelps and screams. Noivern skidded through the crowd, arriving at Cilan's feet.

* * *

Iris remembered the moment clearly: Cilan turning her wrist carefully over in his hand, his fingers hovering precariously near her shallow wounds. Despite his close examinations, she had kept him at an arm's length—she barely knew the guy!—and darted her eyes uneasily around the area. It didn't help that Ash was hanging over both of their shoulders, making Iris feel even more cramped.

After what seemed like far too long for a simple injury, Cilan let out a short, but loud "Hum!" and looked toward Ash.

"Ash, would you go into my bag and find my antibiotic ointment?" he politely requested. "It should be in a white tube with a teal trim. Oh, and bring my bandages too, please."

"You got it!" Ash flashed a grin before hurrying off. Iris warily watched him go before letting out a purposely loud sigh.

"Is this really necessary?" she complained to Cilan. "It's just a little scratch…"

"It'll get infected if it's not properly treated," Cilan tutted. Iris frowned.

"Yeah, yeah…" she groaned. "Well, you don't have to treat me like a kid."

"I'm not. You're the one being stubborn," Cilan said lightly. Iris narrowed her gaze. _Who did this guy think he was?_ It had only been a couple days, but she was beginning to regret agreeing to travel with him and Ash. After this whole business with her wrist was over, she thought, she would strike it out on her own again.

"However…" Iris perked up and glanced at him cautiously. He smiled at her wearily before adding, "I have to admit it was rather brave, you saving that Sewaddle."

The remark surprised her. That was what had started all of this. They had just hit the road again after breakfast when they heard the noises of a Pokémon in distress. It was a Sewaddle up in a tree, being attacked by an Unfezant for accidentally disturbing her nest. Iris wasted no time; she jumped up the tree to retrieve the Sewaddle and was scratched by the Unfezant's talons in the process.

"Well… thank you," Iris said, sounding unsure. "I think anyone would do the same thing."

Cilan seemed to disagree. He chuckled and said, "Your idealism is admirable, but it's going to get you into trouble some day."

Ash returned with the ointment. Cilan thanked him and took it, carefully unscrewing the lid.

"This will sting a little…" he gently warned.

Iris inhaled sharply, almost in a hiss, when she awoke. Her hand automatically grasped her wrist, torn and bloody, possibly broken, or at the very least badly bruised.

She was lying flat on the ground— _somewhere_. It was too dark to tell if she was in familiar territory or not. Although, Iris supposed if she were with the Truth Seekers, they would at least have the courtesy to put her in a bed rather than lay her on stone-cold concrete.

Iris managed to sit up while nursing her injured wrist. Her head was throbbing, and had her attention not been diverted elsewhere, she would've rubbed it tender. She closed her eyes and tried to recenter herself. The details from before she was knocked out began to return.

Her adrenaline had been pumping viciously through her veins, the wind whistling past her ears, as she and Noivern took to the sky. They surged past several of the smaller airships, heading directly to the mother. As they flew above it, they had caught the attention of several Plasma members on-deck, who quickly readied their Pokéballs for battle

Iris slid her hand down Noivern's neck and leaned toward him. "Noivern," she murmured, "when we get close, I want you to drop me on the deck… and then I want you to go back to the lighthouse. Find Cilan and stay with him."

Noivern craned his neck, looking at her with surprise. He shook his head and made a noise or protest.

"Don't argue," she said firmly. "I won't bring you down with me." Iris's expression then softened, and she wrapped an arm around his neck. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

They hovered in the air for a few moments more. Finally, Noivern nuzzled into the crook of her arm, a sign that he would follow her order. Iris straightened up and smiled, then gasped aloud when a Shadow Ball hurtled straight toward them. Noivern dodged it at the last moment, saving them both.

A Swoobat had launched it toward them from below. Iris fisted her hands hard in Noivern's backfur.

"This is it," she said. "Let's go!"

Noivern let out a ferocious battle cry and dove straight toward the deck. Only a few feet from impact, Iris jumped off, and Noivern swept up to head back to the lighthouse. Almost immediately after landing, however, she was attacked by a Liepard. It leapt toward her, claws out, and Iris threw up a defensive arm. The Pokémon sank its teeth into her wrist, tearing mercilessly at the flesh. She cried out and tried to throw it off.

"Wait! Stop!" a female voice called out. "That girl! She's—" The woman never finished her sentence. Noivern landed in front of her with a roar, then whipped around and went straight for the Liepard attacking his trainer. He tore it off of Iris and threw it into the railing of the ship. Noivern turned again, back to the Plasma members.

"Noivern, no!" Iris called out. "You've got to get back to—"

Those were her last words, as well as the last thing she remembered before being bludgeoned on the head and knocked out.

Iris reached up and touched the back of her hair. It was crusted with dried blood. A Team Plasma member had probably hit her with one of their escrima sticks from behind, like what had happened to Cilan—and knowing her luck, she had probably landed on her already-injured wrist when she hit the deck.

A more chilling thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Noivern!" she cried. "Noivern, where—"

A door opened, and Iris was blinded with a stream of yellow light. She blinked into it before seeing a figure emerge against the backdrop. Iris staggered to her feet.

"Where's my Noivern?" she demanded. The figure, a woman from the shape of it, didn't respond. She moved forward, toward Iris. "Answer me!" Iris's voice rose.

"I don't know," the woman replied, annoyed. "That doesn't matter now. Ghetsis wants to see you."

Iris drew back. Now that the woman was closer, Iris realized she recognized her. She was the one who tried to call off the attack on her. It helped ease Iris up—minimally.

"Where are we?" Iris asked cautiously.

"The Unova Pokémon League headquarters," the woman answered, and Iris sucked in her breath. The woman then repeated, "Ghetsis wants to see you."

"I heard you the first time," Iris said. "And I'm not going anywhere without knowing where Noivern is."

"Arceus, you sure have one-track mind, don't you?" the woman scoffed. "I already told you—I don't know. He escaped before we could grab him."

"He… He escaped?" Iris perked up.

" _Yes_." The woman's patience was rapidly thinning. "Now—"

"Oh." Iris covered her face with her one good hand and leaned forward. "Oh, thank goodness."

"Yeah, thank goodness," the woman sarcastically added. "Ghetsis wants to see you."

Iris's hand fell, and she looked perturbed. "And _I'm_ the one with a one-track mind?" she asked indignantly. "What does he want to do with me anyway?"

"Well… Are you or are you not Iris Ajagara?" the woman asked.

Iris immediately straightened up.

"You… know who I am?" She did nothing to conceal her suspicious tone.

"The little Draconid gym leader who captured Reshiram?" the woman recounted. " _Everyone_ knows who you are. I knew it was you the moment I saw you with that Noivern and those red eyes coming out of the Truth Seekers' base."

Iris was silent for a moment, pressing her lips hard together as she considered her options. Then, with resolve, she inhaled deeply and said, "Yes, that's me."

The woman pushed open the door further and gestured for Iris to come. Iris briefly narrowed her gaze, tightening her grip only slightly on her injured wrist, before moving forward. She suddenly found herself, indeed, in the Great Hall of the Unova Pokémon League Headquarters. Iris glanced back at the door she had just exited.

A closet. A closet was where they had been keeping her. It looked like they had at least had the courtesy to clear it of any cleaning products before throwing her in there. How generous. Although, Iris mentally conceded, it was probably because they didn't want her swinging a mop at anyone's head if given the opportunity (an opportunity she would definitely take advantage of).

"Don't get any funny ideas about trying to run," the woman warned.

"I don't think I'm really in a position to do much of anything," Iris remarked sarcastically with reference to her wrist.

"Don't be smart with me," the woman snapped. "I saved your life."

"Thanks, I guess," Iris said, ignoring the directive. The woman huffed, clearly agitated with the response, but turned forward regardless.

They ascended the grand, wine-colored staircase together, with Iris staying a few steps behind her escort. She cast her gaze warily about the area. It had been a while since her last visit; in fact, she had only been there once before, with Drayden. She was still his apprentice back then, a gym-leader-in-training, but he insisted she come when Alder requested his presence for a standard, annual review.

Alder had met them midway down the same staircase upon their arrival. The grandeur of the place seemed to demand a certain amount of decorum, but he greeted Drayden jovially, as an old friend. It dismantled the innate stuffiness of the whole affair.

"You remember Iris, don't you?" Drayden asked as they made their way up the stairs together.

"Of course," Alder answered with a grin. "You used to travel with the young gentleman from Striaton City and that trainer from Pallet Town."

"Cilan and Ash," Iris said with a weak smile.

"Yeah, those two," Alder affirmed. "And now you're in training to be the next Opelucid Gym Leader?" Iris nodded. "Well, I can promise you that you will never find a better teacher than this man." He gestured to Drayden, who raised an eyebrow in response.

"You flatter me."

"It's true," Alder insisted. He looked back at Iris. "You'll do great things, having had him as your mentor."

"She'll do great things regardless," Drayden amended.

Iris sobered at the memory. Everything seemed so different now. The warm regality that hung in the air back then… it had vanished, leaving a lingering feeling of malice.

At the top of the staircase, the woman opened a door, ushered Iris inside, and slammed the door behind her. Iris whipped her head back, blinking at the closed door, before facing forward again.

It was Alder's office. _Was_. The various quirky trinkets he kept, the ones Iris could remember, were gone. His colorful collection of feathers from different winged Pokémon, the dried wreath of Pecha flowers, the scratchy tapestry of a Bouffalant hanging from the wall… gone.

Something familiar remained. It hadn't been there before, but she recognized it almost immediately: Drayden's emerald bolo tie draped over the edge of Alder's desk. The man before her, Iris realized, must have purposely set it out for her to see.

Ghetsis focused his deep red gaze on Iris. His right eye was concealed by a lens that burned an even angrier shade of red.

"So you're Iris Ajagara," he said. Iris pulled her still-bleeding wrist closer to her body.

"I am," she said firmly. Ghetsis rose from his seat behind the desk.

"I'm disappointed," he mused as he approached. "I would've expected the girl who captured Reshiram to have put up a better fight against my men, outnumbered as you were. Aldith reported you went down almost immediately. Pretty unpleasantly, too, from what I can see," he said with a nod toward her left arm. Iris said nothing.

"Of course, to be fair, you had no Pokémon on hand," Ghetsis continued. "Not even the fabled Reshiram that has made you so famous."

"Already searched me, huh?" Iris said cheekily.

"It is suspicious, my dear." Ghetsis rounded her, and Iris drew further into herself. "Coming into battle with no Pokémon… it's like you _wanted_ to be captured. Your idea, or Benga's?"

Iris let out a short laugh—simultaneously derisive and an automatic reaction to her uneasiness that he knew who Benga was. Nothing good could come of that, regardless of her feelings about the Truth Seekers' leader.

"Benga has no control over me," she said.

"Is that so?" Ghetsis raised an eyebrow. "Where's Reshiram then? With the Truth Seekers?" Iris clamped her mouth shut. Ghetsis pulled out a chair and offered it to her. "Sit," he politely said. She didn't. Ghetsis pressed his lips together.

"What I don't understand," he started again, "is what a girl like you is doing with the Truth Seekers."

"A girl like me?" Iris repeated suspiciously.

"You are one of Draconid, are you not?" Ghetsis inquired. "I can tell by your eyes." He reached out, as if to touch her face, but she quickly recoiled back. He went on, "Only the Draconid have these deep red eyes." He let on a wicked smile; the bright red shade of his eye was blatant. "It's what ties us together. That, and our mutual hatred of the Truth Seekers."

Iris did not like the direction of the conversation. "Yes, I'm one of the Draconid," she confirmed anyway. "What does it matter?"

"Are you ignorant of the Truth Seekers' history?" Ghetsis pressed.

"I'm not ignorant of anything," Iris denied. "I know what the Truth Seekers are."

"Then, truly, I am confused."

"There's nothing to be confused about," Iris said flatly. "I'm my own person."

Ghetsis hummed aloud. "Admirable," he conceded, "but if that's the case, then it seems you and I share even more in common." Iris raised her eyebrows. He continued, "You _did_ get yourself captured purposely. You're here to free Zekrom—to 'liberate' him, as we would say." Iris narrowed her gaze but still said nothing. Ghetsis paced back to the front of the room. "You're your own person? Very well. I'll strike a deal with you. You speak to Zekrom and help us take back Reshiram—and then you're free to go. We'll both get what we desire, and as a side bonus, we'll take down the Truth Seekers. Permanently. They'll hurt us no more."

At that, Iris made direct eye contact.

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to help Team Plasma," she said point-blank. Ghetsis straightened up in surprise. "I'm not stupid. I know you're wearing contacts. Besides, you really think being another Draconid would win me over? If that were the case, Benga and I'd be best friends." Ghetsis's expression darkened, and he rose up. "You're the worst kind of person. You're the kind—"

"—Enough.—"

"—who preys on people's beliefs to get them to—"

" _Enough_!" He struck her across the face. Iris fell to the ground, but managed to save her wrist from being crushed a second time. The taste of blood filled her mouth, her ears rang, and her eyes stung at the shock of pain. She wiped the trickle of blood away from her lips with her good hand and looked back at Ghetsis. He towered above her, glaring, but Iris remained undeterred.

"I do hate the Truth Seekers," she hissed. "But I hate you more. You don't care about Pokémon. You don't care what happened to us." The pace of her words rapidly started to pick up. "You don't care what happened during the Great War, and you don't care about Reshiram, Zekrom, or Kyurem. You're just taking up the history of the Draconid and twisting it to fit your needs."

He grabbed her by her good arm and pulled her to her feet. "You're a fool," he hissed through his teeth. "An idealistic fool. Do you know where you are? You'll die here, for nothing."

Iris cracked a scary smile.

"Fine. Good luck training Zekrom without me," she spat. "I'm a _real_ Draconid. I'll bet I'm the only person here who can speak to Dragons. I'm the one who caught Reshiram. You need me, not the other way around."

Enraged, Ghetsis threw her back to the ground. "Aldith! Barret!" he called out. The door flung open, and the woman who retrieved Iris and another similarly red-haired man immediately entered. "Take her back."

The two grunts immediately nodded, seizing Iris, who cried out when one accidentally grabbed her injured wrist. They started to drag her away, but Ghetsis indicated for Aldith to come to him. She did so, while Barret continued to pull Iris out the door.

"Ensure she receives no food or water, and do not tend to her wounds," he ordered. "It's harder to cling to your ideals when you're starving."

* * *

The tapes were clear on one matter: Iris, from the back of her Noivern, did in fact drop herself on the deck of the Team Plasma main airship. A few minutes later, the whole fleet had turned around. What _wasn't_ clear was what happened on the deck in the few minutes between her landing and the airships changing direction. The vantage point the cameras offered were limited, and others were damaged in the attack.

The clip rewound and started again.

The audience to this moment was initially very small: Benga, Hilda, a few other trainers of note… but gradually, after Benga called back the evacuation order and sent Virgil, among others, to rein in their members, the situation room began to fill with more bodies.

The clip rewound and started again.

Benga pressed his knuckles to his mouth. His gaze was intense, focused. The door creaked open; Skyla and Marlon trickled inside. Elesa indicated for them to come close and quietly explained the situation to them. Lenora remarked it looked like Noivern might have briefly come back, but they couldn't be sure.

The clip rewound and started again.

Cheren cleared his throat, ending the prolonged silence.

"It looks bad," he conceded.

"Bad?" Clay repeated roughly. "That's an understatement. It looks treasonous."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Burgh hastily said.

"I agree," Lenora said, folding her arms. "Cilan may shed some light on this. They're close. Where's he and the other two?"

"They should be coming soon," Benga interjected. "I sent someone to get them." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Elesa fold her arms and look away with a slight huff. "Is there something you want to say, Elesa?" he gently prodded.

She pressed her lips together, thinking. She didn't look toward him when she said, "This is Drayden's girl. I can't believe it—I _don't_ believe it. Someone he personally mentored would never do something like this."

"We can't rely solely on Drayden's ethos," Brycen said.

Elesa shrugged. "Very well then," she continued. "I've spoken with Iris on multiple occasions. She's a respectable young woman. She captured Reshiram. No one of sinister intent could do that."

"Then how come Team Plasma captured Zekrom?" Roxie mumbled. A dispute erupted. Several voices spoke all at once, with interjections varying from "That's just a rumor" and "But Iris caught Reshiram in a _Pokéball_ ", to "No, Roxie has a good point" and "Face it, the evidence is against Iris." Benga rubbed his temples and sucked in his breath, prepared to speak up and put an end to the fighting—but then the door flung open.

"Out of my way! Out of my way!" Bianca charged inside, pushing aside several gym leaders before practically flinging herself onto Benga's desk. Benga stood in alarm as Bianca heaved to catch her breath. Then, bringing her eyes up to his, she blurted, "Please! You can't blame Iris! It's not what you think—"

Several calls of "Bianca!" and "Wait!" followed her into the room, as did a new posse of people. Virgil appeared, making his way to the front, apologizing profusely for the interruption. He then tried to pull Bianca back with the gentle admonishment, "Just let them solve it. Don't worry, it'll be fine."

Benga blinked as they retreated, then perked up once he noticed who was among the new arrivals. "Cilan!" he called out. The name alone brought the room to a standstill. Every head turned, and Cilan was ushered to the front of the group.

"Oh good, you're finally here," Clay grumbled. He pointed to the screen, which was again replaying the footage of Iris. "I'd be interested to hear _your_ thoughts on this."

"Don't be so accusatory, Clay," Lenora chastised. Another argument ensued, but Cilan paid no attention to it. Instead, his eyes locked onto the screen. His chest tightened as he took in every movement Iris made.

His brothers and friends were similarly enraptured by the clip. Burgundy clasped her hands together and pressed them to her mouth; Georgia sucked in her breath and let out a long sigh; Trip folded his arms, his eyes darting over every detail the screen offered; Cress carefully considered Iris's movements and exchanged an uneasy look with Chili; Cameron pursed his lips, as did Stephan; Bianca was a shivering mess whilst Virgil tried to console her. All throughout the video's duration, the infighting among the gym leaders continued.

The clip rewound and started again.

"That's enough!" Hilda, who up until then had been completely silent, suddenly cut in. Her voice shattered the concentration of the recent arrivals and abruptly ended the bickering among the other gym leaders. "Just let Cilan speak, and let's be done with it!"

She looked directly at Cilan then.

"Do you know what Iris was planning?" she asked bluntly. "Because from the looks of it, it seems like she crossed lines. And regardless of whether she did or not, this is all very underhanded."

"Underhanded?" Georgia suddenly spoke up. "Ha! That's a laugh coming from you."

Hilda looked at her with her eyebrows knitted together.

" _What_ is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Oh, I think you know," Georgia snapped back. Burgundy quickly grabbed onto her shoulder.

"Georgia, _stop_ ," she whispered. "Not here."

Meanwhile, Cilan slowly turned his head toward Benga, who was silently sitting again. His inaction ignited a genuine anger within the connoisseur.

"You're not going to say anything?" Cilan said coldly. His words alone ended the fight between Georgia and Hilda.

"Sorry?" Benga straightened up.

There were several matters Cilan could have brought up, but he settled for the most pressing: "I suppose you didn't tell them you sanctioned Iris going up to the lighthouse and facing Team Plasma herself?" he continued. Benga's eyes hardened.

"That's an unfair representation and you know it," he said firmly. "My original plan was for Iris to strike Team Plasma with us from the front. It was her choice to go up there. I just assumed she was planning on fighting Team Plasma and tried to capitalize on it."

"You condemned her to die," Cilan said with a chillingly low voice. "You knew she couldn't—"

"—People _die_ in war," Benga emphasized with finality. Those few words sucked all the air out of the room, and everyone stood in utter silence for a moment. Benga breathed in before continuing, "Of course, I didn't want Iris to do something reckless. That's why I sent you, to give you the chance to talk her down."

Cilan closed his eyes. "I just don't understand—"

"—Of course you don't," Benga said bluntly. "You love her." The words sank into everyone in the room. Cilan felt a heat climbing up his neck in both embarrassment and anger.

Benga started again.

"As the leader here, there are a lot of hard decisions and judgement calls I have to make," he said. "I thought this was a way to end everything in one shot, and yeah, that meant some sacrifices. Obviously, I was wrong. I was too eager, and I misjudged Iris. Now, Team Plasma has both Reshiram and Zekrom, and we're on the losing end. I have to live with those consequences."

Cilan stared wordlessly at him. Then, he reached into his pocket, plucked out a Pokéball, and laid it in the middle of Benga's desk. Benga went rigid upon its appearance, as did half the room.

"Is that—?" Skyla breathed in awe.

"—Reshiram," Cilan finished affirmatively, looking directly at Benga. "She left him with me. That Noivern, her Noivern, you see in the video—" He indicated the screen that was still playing the clip on loop. "—came back to me, too. Iris did purposefully go to Team Plasma, not to join them, but to try to save Zekrom."

"So you _did_ know about her plan," Roxie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Believe me, it was not mutually agreed upon," Cilan clarified.

"Then how do you have Reshiram?" Elesa questioned.

"She—" Cilan struggled for an appropriate explanation. Although Benga had plainly laid Cilan's feelings for Iris out on the table for everyone to see, Cilan wanted to keep their kiss private. "—outsmarted me." He paused for a moment, then sighed. "Iris is hard to read. But if there is one thing I know about her, it's that she will without hesitation put her own life on the line for something she cares about. She's not a traitor. She's with Unova, and she needs our help."

Benga absorbed this. He reached out and touched Reshiram's Pokéball with his fingertip, turning it on its axis.

"We've lost the only person who could control Reshiram," he said quietly.

Cilan's chest swelled. He turned on this heel and walked briskly out of the room.

* * *

It didn't take long for Iris to lose track of time. The concept of seconds, minutes, hours, _days_ even faded into the darkness. Was it an hour that passed or just ten minutes? Had it been two days since she arrived or two weeks? The not-knowing would have been disorienting had it not been for her preoccupation with everything else that ailed her.

"You ready to come out and talk sense?" Aldith asked from beyond the door.

Iris smirked, though she knew the expression granted only personal satisfaction. "Not a chance," she replied confidently.

That was the first or second day, Iris figured. Her lips were only a little chapped, and she was hungry, but not dangerously so. Her wrist had swollen and grown more painful, but at least the blood had coagulated. She could hold out for longer. She had to. She was certain they wouldn't let her die, and she needed to hold onto that. Ghetsis wouldn't ask her to help them if they had control of Reshiram, and Iris thought she had made a pretty convincing argument that they would get nowhere without her.

She crumpled to the floor. Perspiration dripped down her forehead.

"What are you doing down there?" The question was posed warmly, almost with a sense of amusement. Her father's voice always seemed to sound that way. "Did you fall out of bed again?"

"H-Hot," was all she could muster in a small, breathy voice. Her father's expression transformed. He now looked deeply worried. He leaned down and touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

"Nadie!" he called out fearfully, scooping her up into his arms. "Come quickly!" Her mother soon arrived, her eyebrows furrowed. "Feel her—she's burning up!"

Iris turned her head toward her mother and extended her arms toward her.

"Mom," she bleated.

"Come here, sweetheart," Nadie said, taking her away. "We'll take care of you. Let's get you cooled you down."

Ice water splashed against Iris's face, and she yelped in surprise. Yet, the trickles of water her swollen tongue caught proved to be a great relief. She was parched. Iris cracked open her eyes and saw Aldith's figure standing over her in the light. She was holding a now-empty pail.

"Are you ready now?" she taunted. Iris closed her eyes, and Aldith closed the door.

"I _told_ you it would get infected," Cilan said, gently extending her arm. There was a greater sense of worry in his voice than chastisement. A yellow pus was oozing from the wound on her wrist.

"I'm fine," Iris insisted.

"No, you're not," Cilan said seriously. Iris felt her chest grow heavy with dread seeing his expression. Still, she swallowed.

"Well, I'll be fine," she said, her voice shaking with doubt. Cilan turned her arm over again and held her hand in both of his. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He felt cold.

Iris curled into a ball, shivering into her own arms.

"Are you ready now?"

Iris didn't respond. She felt two fingers press against her neck.

"She's still alive."

The Elder gingerly pulled at the edge of cloth cradling her face. Iris cracked her eyes open, just enough to see the Elder's face pale.

"No…" The Elder backed away. Drayden looked on with confusion.

"What's the matter?"

The Elder didn't respond. She shook her head in disbelief and asked, quietly, "Where did you find her?"

"In the mountains. Her parents are dead," Drayden answered. He paused. "I went because the storm had stopped."

The Elder was struck. She turned and sank into a nearby chair.

"Oh, Nadie…" she wept. "Had I known…"

Iris closed her eyes again. She felt Drayden adjust her in his arms before turning and bringing her to a bed. He carefully laid her down and pushed a damp clump of hair out of her face.

"You're going to be okay," he said. "Stay with me." The deep reassurance of Drayden's voice distorted, changing into something more airy and vague, yet still strangely comforting.

Iris lolled her head, drawing a long breath as she did. Her vision was a haze when her eyes opened.

She was in light. A person was hovering above her—a person with green hair. Cilan's name came to her lips, but as her eyes focused themselves, she realized her company was _not_ Cilan.

Iris breathed again, sharply, as she jerked herself upward. The quick motion dizzied her, but two cool, thin hands gently grasped her wrists to still her.

"It's okay," her attendant cooed. The wound on her left wrist had been cleaned and dressed, and he took great care when handling her, touching only the edge of the bandages with feathery lightness. "Do not be alarmed. I won't hurt you."

Iris swallowed—or tried to. She might have resisted more, but she felt utterly spent.

"Where am I?" she asked hoarsely.

"You're at the Unova Pokémon League," her attendant answered. Iris pursed her lips. So she was still under Team Plasma's thumb. "I found you locked in a closet downstairs. You were very, very sick. But…" He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Iris went rigid. "... it seems your fever has broken."

He withdrew his hand. Iris did not relax herself, firmly maintaining her gaze.

"What were you doing in there, anyway?" he asked politely. The naïveté of the question was a little disconcerting. Iris gave him an odd look.

"I've… been a prisoner of Team Plasma," she answered. His eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"A prisoner?" he repeated incredulously. Iris narrowed her gaze.

"You have no idea who I am?" she inquired.

"Well, I don't think we've met before," her attendant chuckled. "May I ask to make your acquaintance?"

Iris shifted uneasily. "You tell me who you are first," she said. The request seemed to strike her attendant as odd, but he shrugged it off.

"Of course," he agreed with a smile. "I am N, the Champion of the Unova League."

Iris's breath caught her throat, and her chest constricted. An indeterminate emotion burned within her, compelling her to say _something_ , anything, but she simply didn't know how to react.

The opportunity slid away with a roar of "N!" It was Aldith's voice. Iris winced at the sound, but N seemed wholly unfazed. He turned his head as she appeared in the doorway, breathless and angry.

"N, what the—" She gritted her teeth, trying to contain herself. "What are you _doing_?"

"Hello Aldith," he greeted affably. "I've been caring for this girl. You won't believe where I found her."

"I know _where_ you found her because _I_ was keeping her there on your father's orders," Aldith growled.

"On father's orders?" N straightened up. Then, he shook his head. "No, you must be mistaken."

"N!" Aldith was growing increasingly frustrated with his ignorance. Iris would have found it amusing if her own wellbeing didn't hang in the balance. "This is— _Iris Ajagara_!"

"Oh!" N turned briefly to Iris in surprise. " _You're_ Iris Ajagara?" He looked back to Aldith. "Then surely you _must_ have misunderstood my father, Aldith. He's wanted to bring Iris here for so long, and here she is!"

"N," Aldith tried to warn him before he could go any further.

"She's the girl who can speak to Dragons," N went on. "We need to her help to communicate with Zekrom."

" _N_ ," Aldith hissed. Iris smiled with vindication and wiggled her brow at Aldith, who fumed in response.

"Please inform my father that Iris is with me and that I will see to her recovery and comfort," N said with a dismissive wave of his hand and turn of his chair. Aldith huffed and stormed off with a slam of the door.

Iris breathed out a long sigh and closed her eyes, recentering herself. When she opened them again, N was leaning forward, a little too close, with his blank blue eyes eagerly watching her. Iris was unnerved and moved back in bed.

"So…" she started with a cough. N tilted his head, concerned.

"Is something the matter?" he inquired.

Iris really didn't know what to say. _Yes, something is the matter. Alder is dead, and it's your fault. I've just been tortured for Arceus knows how long, but I guess we're brushing that aside. Also, you're sitting way too close to me._ But N had saved her life and was, uh, pleasant. She also wasn't too keen on getting thrown back into the closet and denied food and water and medical care again if she somehow struck a bad chord with him.

"I…" She needed to be alone. She needed to think. She needed to figure out what she was going to do now and how much time had passed. "I…" Her stomach growled, and Iris instinctively pressed her hands into it, as if it would suppress the sound.

"Oh, you're hungry!" N cried. "I'm sorry. I'll get you something to eat." He rose to his feet. "Is there anything in particular you want?"

Food was the last thing on her mind. In fact, the very idea of it made her feel a little queasy. Still, she knew she probably hadn't consumed anything for days and needed to regain her strength.

"Just… something simple," Iris answered as amicably as she could.

"Certainly." N nodded. He briefly turned away, looked struck, then turned back to her. "Oh. That door leads to a bathroom, if needed. I'll be with you again soon."

He disappeared through the doorway. Iris pressed a hand to her face and fell back into her pillow with a relieved sigh. The moment of comfort quickly shattered when she all-too suddenly became aware of the throbbing pain in her throat.

She needed water. Now.

Iris's hand fell away from her eyes, and she looked at the door N had pointed out.

What she _meant_ to do next was fairly straightforward: kick the purple sheets off, get out of bed, walk over to the door, and get a drink from the bathroom sink inside. What happened _instead_ was far messier: she fell out of bed, crawled over to the door, barely pushed it open, and laid on the cool bathroom floor for several minutes trying to recollect herself. She was much weaker than she thought.

After some hard breathing, Iris reached up, grabbed the edge of the bathroom counter, and hoisted herself up. An empty glass sat near the faucet. She clumsily grabbed it, turned on the faucet, filled the glass to the brim, and downed it in one go.

Twice.

Three times.

Four. And a half.

She set the glass down and slumped over the counter. She stayed in that position for a few minutes before turning her head and looking at the shower beside her. The idea of a shower became increasingly appealing the more she looked at it. For as long as she hadn't eaten, she also hadn't bathed, and the sticky film of her fever still covered her skin.

Iris pressed the lock on the door and shed her clothes. Yes, a shower would make her feel better. And the warm comfort of the water _did_ make her feel better. It was only when she felt the hot water drip down her back and the steam rise through her nostrils that she could focus.

Okay. She needed to assess the situation and evaluate her options. ( _Arceus_ , Iris wryly thought, _I sound like Cilan_ ).

She was a prisoner of Team Plasma. Even if she wasn't locked up anymore, she probably couldn't escape on her own, not in her condition. Not that she wanted to, anyway. Since she'd gone through all the trouble to get there, she might as well follow through on her plan.

Just as she had suspected, Team Plasma had captured Zekrom but couldn't figure out how to control him. They needed her to communicate with him. She was lucky her instincts were correct, otherwise she'd probably be dead instead of just deathly ill.

She was in the care of N, the son of Team Plasma's leader, Ghetsis, and the new Champion. He seemed utterly unaware of everything around him. She could use that to her advantage. She could—

Iris suddenly doubled down and vomited on the shower floor. It was mostly water. She supposed she had drank too much too fast. She couldn't think much after that and hastily finished her shower.

N wasn't back in the bedroom, but it was marked by his presence. A fresh set of clothes and plate of saltines laid on the bed's edge. Iris had already dressed herself and redone her bandages, but her clothes were mucky with days of perspiration. The thought of new, clean clothes was enticing, until Iris took a closer look. It was Team Plasma's modern uniform: black leggings, black shirt, black gloves, black boots, and a gray jacket with Team Plasma's insignia printed on the front. She made a face and pushed them aside.

For a few minutes, she nibbled on the saltines and drank from the water cup, taking in her surroundings. N had told her she was still at the Unova League Headquarters, but she wasn't really sure _where_. Her bedroom featured ornate gothic decor and muted colors. A large black desk with several notebooks piled atop it sat in the corner. Across from her, an old television set. The walls were lined with bookcases, tightly compacted with all sorts of titles.

Realization struck Iris hard and fast. This was Shauntal's room.

Iris thought she would throw up again. She quickly staggered to her feet and nearly collapsed from the bout of dizziness that followed. She grabbed onto the edge of the dresser to save herself and worked to catch her breath. Even if she couldn't leave the League, she needed to _get out of that room_.

Eating had granted her enough strength to do just that. Iris stumbled out of the room and closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it and pressed a hand to her face. Her eyes burned with tears. She felt weak in the knees. Suddenly, she didn't want to do this anymore.

Iris propelled herself forward, moving quickly down the hallway. Maybe there _was_ a way she could escape. She was only assuming Team Plasma had her under tight lock and key, but she hadn't seen it for herself, and maybe she could just slip by—

" _I_ … _again_ … _importance_ …"

Iris froze in her tracks. It was Ghetsis's voice. She hadn't realized it until then, but she was nearing the door leading to Alder's office.

Iris slid up to the wall and moved closer so she could make out more of the words.

" _I don't understand…_ " Now N was speaking. Iris was at the door's edge and she craned her neck just enough to see through the crack in the door. "... why wouldn't she be on our side? A person who can speak to Pokémon… surely they would understand our cause."

Iris felt a twist in her gut. They were talking about her.

"She has been corrupted by the Truth Seekers," Ghetsis replied. "She would not be the first."

N appeared contemplative. Then, he quietly asked, "Is this why she was locked downstairs?"

"No," Ghetsis quickly answered, shaking his head. "Aldith misinterpreted an order." Iris furrowed her eyebrows. It was astounding how he, with such ease, made a boldfaced lie. "Regardless of her misplaced loyalties, she is our friend. You are right to treat her as such. Still, she cannot see Zekrom until she has joined us. However, I am confident you will be the light that convinces her."

N sighed.

"I will do my best," he said.

Iris backed away, lest they see her. She slumped against the wall and took in a deep breath.

She returned to Shauntal's room shortly thereafter and donned solely the black leggings and shirt of Team Plasma's uniform.

* * *

Ten days. Ten days since the attack. Ten days since Iris left on the airship. Each passed by with increasing agony, and the air of uncertainty was growing heavier among all the Truth Seekers. What would they do next? Where would they go?

"You have to eat something, Cilan," Cress gently prodded him. They were sitting together in the cafeteria, and Cilan hadn't touched his food. He had barely touched any food for days.

Cilan seemed distant up until Cress called his name. His gaze came back into focus, and he managed a weak smile.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I suppose I just haven't had much of appetite recently."

"Sometimes you just gotta eat for fuel, dude," Cameron said. "It's not good for you to keep going on like this."

Cilan inhaled sharply through his nose, then sighed. "I really am not hungry right now," he insisted. "... But I'll save this and take it back to my room for later." He promptly stood and folded a biscuit into a napkin.

"Cilan," Cress said a little more sternly, but it fell on deaf ears. Cilan had already left. Cress folded his arms and exchanged a look with Chili across the table. The redhead had pursed his lips and was looking worried.

"Man, he'll make himself sick at this rate," Stephan remarked with a frown.

"He already is," Trip said, eyes averted as he poked at his own plate with a fork. "He's obviously lost weight." The comment visibly upset Bianca, and others, but she was the first to stand up.

"I'm really tired," she announced. "I'm… I'm going to bed early."

Her departure sparked a mass exodus among the group. The others began to leave in quick succession with similarly flimsy excuses: Chili and Cress, because they wanted to check up on Cilan; Stephan, because he was also tired; Cameron, because he wanted to spend some time with Lucario; Luke went as far to create a small diversion, with his Zorua conveniently running off. Burgundy was about ready to go, too, with an excuse of her own, but Georgia grabbed her wrist and mouthed "wait" to her. Georgia then shot a pointed look at Trip, indicating he should stand by too. He raised an eyebrow but stayed put.

Once the table had been cleared of everyone else, Georgia leaned in toward Trip and Burgundy, and they followed suit.

"I don't know about you two," she began, "but I'm getting real tired of sitting around doing nothing, and Cilan is no help."

"He's depressed," Trip said candidly. "I don't know what you expect from him."

"But we _have_ Reshiram," Georgia pressed. "Why aren't we doing something?"

"Correction: Benga has Reshiram," Trip said. "And besides, you make it sound easy. Controlling Reshiram was difficult even for Iris."

"Yeah," Georgia bluntly agreed, "but we know something no one else does. We know what actually happened at Dragonspiral Tower." Trip craned an eyebrow but leaned back. Burgundy pressed her lips together and looked anxious. "Cilan was the one who captured Reshiram. Not Iris. And the one time Reshiram listened to Iris, Cilan just conveniently happened to be there. And then Iris left Reshiram with him."

"Are you suggesting—" Burgundy started.

"—that Cilan is Reshiram's true master?" Georgia said. "Yeah, I am." She made direct eye contact with Burgundy, then flicked her gaze back to Trip. "Either Cilan's not telling us something, or he's in denial. Whatever the case, he needs some tough love, and a reality check."

She was looking at Burgundy again. Trip, apparently convinced, also turned his gaze toward the connoisseuse. Realization soon struck her.

" _What?!_ " Burgundy blustered. "Me?"

"Well, don't act so surprised," Trip said dryly.

"You've wanted to kick his ass for years," Georgia added. "We're now giving you express permission."

"But with the caveat that I somehow need to convince him to train Reshiram," Burgundy went on. "There's _no_ way."

"Between the three of us, you're the closest to him. You're his rival," Trip said. Burgundy straightened at that. "Rivals push each other to go beyond their own limits. The circumstances are extreme, but this is your territory."

Burgundy stared at him, then glanced at Georgia, who nodded in agreement. She sighed.

"... Where is your room?" she asked Trip quietly.

She left Georgia and Trip behind and counted doors up the long hallway to which Trip had instructed her to go. She finally found his and raised her hand to knock. She paused, however, and took in a deep breath. She had run through several things she might say, but there was no linear order in which she might say them. She at least wanted to know where to start.

She knocked. Chili answered.

"Burgundy?" he inquired, obviously surprised to see her. He opened the door further, giving her a fuller view of the room. Cilan was inside, sitting on the edge of his bed. He perked up when hearing her name and looked over his shoulder.

"Hi," Burgundy said with uncertainty. She looked past Chili and continued, "I was wondering if I could have a… word alone with you, Cilan."

Cilan blinked. "... Sure," he agreed. Chili raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Cress.

"We'll just go see Stephan and Cameron for a bit," Cress offered. Cilan nodded to them appreciatively as they left. Burgundy came in and shut the door. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a long breath. Cilan was watching her, waiting.

"So…" she started. "I don't really want to _tourner autour du pot_ , so I'll just get straight to the point: You don't know that Iris is dead."

It was a bold beginning, and Cilan recoiled back at it. He was immediately unsure of where she was going with this.

"I… don't," he agreed.

"Then why are you acting like it?" Burgundy shot back, though her voice was still low. Cilan had nothing to say that; he was still stunned she was speaking on this at all. "Realistically, I think everyone here knows the longer this goes on, the less likely she's alive. But you've given up way too soon."

"I haven't given up on anything," Cilan insisted.

"Then—" Anger bubbled up in her voice, culminating in a near-scream. "—do something!" Her aggression stirred something in Cilan—a genuine willingness to retaliate. He slowly rose to his feet.

"Do _what_?" he bitterly replied.

"Iris gave _you_ Reshiram." Burgundy jabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis. "She wouldn't have done that unless—what do you know that you're not telling us?"

"I've told you everything," Cilan snapped.

" _Liar_ ," Burgundy hissed. "Be honest: Are you Reshiram's true master?"

Cilan stepped back and stared, his eyes burning. Then, he closed them and sucked in his breath.

"... Iris thinks so," he admitted.

"Do you?" Burgundy asked.

He didn't respond. He only averted his eyes. Burgundy furrowed her eyebrows.

"I was right about you," she spat. "You are a coward." She spun on her heel, simmering with anger, about to storm out—Cilan be damned, she and Georgia and Trip could figure Reshiram out on their own—but then Cilan spoke again.

"You're right," he said.

Burgundy stopped at the door.

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"You're right," he repeated. "I am a coward." Burgundy turned around fully then, staring, and made a small gesture indicating he should continue. Cilan inhaled, ready to go on, but his voice faltered. He lifted a hand and swept tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes down the bridge of his nose.

"Do you know the legend of the Tao Trio?" he asked.

* * *

"It's looking much better now," N cheerfully commented, tracing a finger delicately alongside the now-healing marks on her wrist. The motion sent a shiver up her spine. Although he held her arm carefully in his hands, she sat as far away from him as possible—not unlike how she had done with Cilan many years before. N's eyes traveled up to meet Iris's. "How are you feeling?"

Iris withdrew her arm. "Okay," she answered shortly. N smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, standing. He turned away as if to leave, but he stopped. Iris averted her gaze. A long silence ensued.

This was not the first time this had happened over the past couple of days. N was dutiful in his care, and Iris was maintaining her gracious façade, but there would be periods when all would stop and they would be in silence, contemplating each other, and in particular, contemplating what to say to each other. They each had their own agenda, but were unsure of how to approach it. Iris wanted to convince him to let her see Reshiram without the promise of her aid; N wanted to inspire loyalties to his cause. It was a game of chess, and Iris knew she wasn't very good at it.

N cleared his throat. Iris perked up, wondering if he would finally break the barrier between them and let the negotiations begin.

"If you don't mind me asking…" He turned to face her. "... how is it that you can speak to Dragons?"

"Oh." Iris didn't expect he would bring this up of all things. "Um. I don't know. I feel like I've been doing it forever."

"Is it because you're a Draconid?" N inquired, sliding onto the edge of the bed again. Iris shifted back slightly when he, again, came too close.

"... Not necessarily," she said. "Not all Draconid can speak to Dragons. Most don't, actually. Some people have more of a talent for it, but it's something you have to learn and practice like anything else."

"Would you say you have a talent for it?" N asked.

"I guess," Iris said. "My parents could both speak to Dragons, so I guess it kinda runs in the family." It was an understatement, but Iris certainly wasn't giving away that she was a descendant of Taima.

"But it is something you can learn?" N went on.

"Yeah," Iris answered. "My mother taught my father how to."

"Interesting…" He trailed off. His eyes became cloudy with thought. Iris tilted her head and pressed her lips together. An idea began forming on her tongue.

"Maybe…" she started carefully. "... I could teach you a little bit how… if… if you would show me Zekrom."

The haze in N's eyes dissipated, and he looked directly at Iris. Then, he let out a short chuckle.

"I'm in no position to make any deals with you, Iris," he said lightly. Iris sank back, figuring he would mention how his father had forbidden him from showing Zekrom to her. Then, he continued, "Even if I was interested, I myself don't even know where Zekrom is."

Iris straightened up.

"You… You don't?" She was stunned.

"No." N shook his head. "My father keeps that private."

"But—But you're the Champion!" Iris exclaimed. "Of all people here, _you_ should know."

N blinked, seemingly considering her words. But he ultimately shrugged it off and stood up again.

"Father knows best," he said very simply. He started for the door. Bewilderment rose in Iris as she watched him.

"N!" she suddenly blurted out before she could think any further. "Aldith—she—she didn't misinterpret an order from your father. I was there. I heard him give it. He had me locked up."

N paused. Then, he shook his head.

"No, no," he insisted. "You, too, must be mistaken."

"I'm not," Iris said. N's eyes suddenly hardened and he looked at her fully once again.

"Yes. You are," he said firmly. He finished his way out the door, closing it hard behind him. Iris's mouth hung open in disbelief. She breathed in sharply, then swallowed. Her mission would be even more difficult than she initially thought.

* * *

The Truth Seekers' daily training session in the deep underground had ended, and Hilda was ready to return to her room and take a well-deserved nap. Right after a well-deserved shower.

The bathrooms nearest the top floor were usually empty because the upper rooms had fewer occupants, and being the private person she was, that was where she typically ventured. She found an open stall, closed the shower curtain, and deposited her toiletries on a shelf before starting her ritual.

Hilda turned the shower knob to let the water heat up. She pulled off her jacket and was halfway through pulling off her shirt when she heard a pair of footsteps come in. She thought little of them, however, as she stepped into the warm water.

Ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel and her hair tossed into loose, damp curls, she stepped out of her stall—and discovered the source of those footsteps was waiting outside.

"I need to talk to you," Georgia said immediately and firmly.

"What the—" Hilda nearly jumped. "Were you _waiting_ for me?"

"Must feel weird, huh? Getting followed?" Georgia said wryly.

"I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Georgia taunted.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Hilda huffed, exasperated. Georgia reassumed her serious persona.

"I just have one question," she said. "What are the chances Iris is alive?"

Hilda pulled her towel tighter around herself, glaring.

"How would I know that?" she demanded.

"Cut the shit," Georgia snapped. "I know you're the Truth Seekers' informant on Team Plasma."

Hilda briefly faltered but maintained her glare. The two women stared each other down until Hilda wetted her lips and said, "Let me get dressed. We shouldn't talk here."

They agreed to meet in one of the unoccupied dorms on the same floor. When Hilda arrived, she carefully opened the door and slid inside—only to discover Georgia wasn't the only person in the room. Georgia sat boredly at a small table, but next to her was Burgundy, and across from her was Cilan. Trip sat on the edge of a mattress. And all eyes were on her the moment she entered.

Hilda let out an annoyed hum.

"You know, when I said we should meet privately," she started, addressing Georgia, "I meant just you and I, not your entire posse."

Georgia shrugged.

"Whatever you were planning on telling me, I would've told them anyway," she said, "so you're just saving all of us a game of telephone."

Hilda was visibly unamused by the quip. Regardless, she folded her arms and strutted forward a couple paces before saying, "Before I go any further, you all need to answer one question: How did you find out I was the Truth Seekers' informant?"

Cilan tenderly cleared his throat.

"They found out from me," he said with some measure of reticience. "And I found out from Benga."

Hilda let out a disbelieving huff through her nostrils. "Of course," she muttered, shaking her head. She sat on the mattress opposite to Trip.

"We answered yours, so now you answer ours," Georgia said. "How likely is it that Iris is still alive?"

"What does it matter?" Hilda asked, crossing her legs.

"She's our _friend_ ," Trip said pointedly. "That's why it matters."

"I know, but what do you hope to get out of me telling you?" Hilda pressed. There was no immediate reply, so she flicked her head toward Cilan and continued, "Is he crying himself to sleep every night? Are you hoping I'll give you a false sense of hope? Because I'm not here for that."

"It's not like that," Burgundy interjected.

"Then explain," Hilda said shortly.

"We want to convince Benga to hand Reshiram back over to Cilan," Georgia said. Hilda straightened up in surprise and darted her eyes back toward Georgia, who continued, "If Iris is alive, then that lends strength to the argument that Reshiram would want to save his master."

"The 'argument'?" Hilda repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"We want to see an end to this war like everyone else," Cilan hastily clarified. "And if Iris is alive, and we can save her…" He momentarily trembled but pressed a hand to his face and took in a cleansing breath.

"You think you'll be able to control Reshiram?" Hilda asked doubtfully. Cilan dropped his hand again.

"I have no choice but to believe I might," he said.

Hilda stared. Her mouth was slightly ajar, but she slowly brought her lips together again, and hardened her eyes with something akin to determination.

"She's alive." The certainty with which she said it startled everyone in the room.

"How can you sound so sure?" Burgundy asked.

"Because I am sure," Hilda said. She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, then sucked in her breath. "Look. I wasn't a member of Team Plasma. But I was friends with N." Her hands rose up her arms as she lowered her eyes. "He's a good person, albeit very misguided. He wouldn't let Iris die."

"He sure sounded willing to kill the Truth Seekers in that televised speech," Trip remarked. Hilda let out a bitter laugh.

"That was _scripted_ ," she said. "That wasn't N speaking. That was Ghetsis."

"Okay…" Georgia began slowly. "So maybe N wouldn't kill her, but what about Ghetsis?"

"I never said Iris was safe, or even well. I just said she's alive," Hilda asserted. "It depends on who's overseeing her. I wouldn't put it past Ghetsis to torture her to get what he wants."

Cilan drew in a shaky breath.

"What would he want?" he asked quietly. Hilda leaned back, closed her eyes, and rolled her neck, considering how she should explain.

"N can speak to Pokémon," she started, looking back at her audience seriously. The tangent initially struck her audience as odd, maybe even inappropriate, but her firm gaze encouraged them to hear her out. "It's a gift he's had since he was a child. He adores Pokémon. He loves and cares for their wellbeing more than anyone I've ever met. We all know Team Plasma's 'Pokémon liberation' schtick is only a front, but to him, it's very real. It's why Ghetsis made him the Champion. He's very genuine about his beliefs and the perfect tool for recruitment."

She suddenly leaned forward, and everyone else unconsciously followed.

"However," she continued in a lower voice, "he _can't_ speak to Dragons. Not like Iris."

Georgia let out a sudden, disbelieving breath.

"That's it? _That's_ why you're so sure?" she said, almost sounding angry. Hilda straightened up again.

"I don't think any of you really understand how _valuable_ of an asset Iris is," she said. Cilan's chest rose.

"She's not someone's pawn," he protested.

"She is to Benga, and she is to Ghetsis," Hilda retorted. "Even among the Draconid, her ability to understand and speak to Dragons is unparalleled. The only person who could have rivaled her abilities was Drayden, but Iris is the one who successfully captured Reshiram, and Drayden's dead." The remark sucked the air out of the room. Hilda picked up on the sudden tension and furrowed her brows, bemused by it.

"How do you know so much about the Draconid?" Trip asked, his voice pushing through the thickened air.

"My..." Hilda paused, searching for the right word. "... 'relationship' with Benga, if you want to call it that, is mutually beneficial. I give him information, he gives me information and a place of leadership among the Truth Seekers. The moment I told him N couldn't speak to Dragons, and he told me that Iris could and she was going after Reshiram, we both knew she'd be a target of Team Plasma."

"... And that's why you followed us," Cilan concluded. Hilda nodded, and finally, all the pieces of the puzzle came together.

"So what's _your_ motivation in all this?" Georgia asked. "Why get involved with the Truth Seekers at this level?"

"That's on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know," Hilda said bluntly. Georgia frowned and fell back with folded arms.

"Still," Cilan continued, "if you have sway with Benga, would you be willing to help us convince him?"

Hilda folded her hands together and pressed them to her lips, considering this, and him. Cilan and the others waited with bated breath.

"Yes."

* * *

The following morning, N returned to Shauntal's room—Iris refused to consider it anything but—with no lingering disaffection. He was as ingratiating as ever to Iris, who was actually out of bed and browsing through Shauntal's collection of books, though she hadn't opened any. In particular, she was intrigued by a title laying on Shauntal's desk, beside her notebooks: _Tao Trio Origins: The History of the Aboriginal Dragon_.

"How are you feeling today?" N asked.

"I'm fine," Iris answered, straightening up.

"It's good to see you up and walking around," N said.

"It's good to be up and walking around."

Silence. Iris shuffled her feet while N gently brushed some hair out of his eyes.

"Are you hungry?" N asked.

"Not really," Iris replied.

More silence.

"I'm sorry about that unpleasantness yesterday," N apologized. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm very protective of my father, you see."

"Oh." Iris wasn't sure how respond. "That's okay." She paused for a moment, then, unable to resist, asked, "Why is that?"

"Why is what?" N blinked.

"Why are you so protective of your father?" Iris asked.

"Oh!" He understood then. "Is it not natural to want to protect your father?" The question wasn't posed rhetorically, and that bothered Iris.

"I-It is," she agreed. "Sure it is. It's just…" She trailed off, then shook her head. "Never mind." She turned and stared out the window, through which sunlight streamed inside. N watched her for a long moment.

"Is there anything you would like to do, since you're feeling better?" he asked.

Iris smiled wryly. "See Zekrom," she said.

N frowned.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that," he said.

"I know. I was just being…" Iris shook her head again. "Never mind." She was looking out the window again. N raised his eyes toward it, then darted them back toward her.

"Would you like to go outside?" he offered. Iris perked up and spun toward him.

"I… I would, actually!" she nodded. She hadn't truly realized how badly she wanted to go outside until he even mentioned it. She had spent so much time underground with the Truth Seekers, so much time locked in the darkness of a closet, and so much time in bed recovering that she hadn't even realized how much she missed the breeze in her hair, and the grass under her feet, and the smell of—

N beamed, happy he finally had hit a positive note with her.

"Excellent," he said. "The weather is lovely today, too. All the Pokémon will be playing."

"There's Pokémon?" Iris was excited by that prospect, too.

"Of course!" N's grin widened. "A-And I'm sure they'd love you! They'd love another person who can speak to Pokémon!"

That gave Iris pause.

" _Another_?" she repeated inquisitively.

"Oh yes," N nodded, already heading out the door. "I can speak to Pokémon."

Iris was struck. "Wha—" She realized he was already well up the hallway. "Wait!" She hurried after him. "What do you _mean_ you can speak to Pokémon?!"

"Just that." N smiled at her. "I've been able to speak to Pokémon ever since I was a child. You see, even though Ghetsis is my father, I was actually raised by Pokémon in the forest before he found me. As a result, I understand their language quite well."

Iris was flabbergasted.

"What do you need _me_ for then?" she asked before she could think the question through. N gave her a strange look.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I thought…" Iris suddenly remembered how he had asked yesterday whether it was possible to learn the language of Dragons. "Can you not speak to Dragons?"

"No." N smiled sadly and shook his head. "I've tried before. I don't understand it. They're so _different_ from other Pokémon. It's much more difficult to connect with them." Seeing Iris's expression, he tilted his head and asked, "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing. I just…" They were beginning to head down the stairs, and she paused to concentrate. Her balance still felt off. Another thought suddenly occurred to her. "Have you actually tried to speak to Zekrom before, then?" Iris asked.

"Yes," N admitted. They reached the bottom of the stairs, at which point N pushed up his long, green bangs, revealing a nasty scar above his left eye. "... It didn't go so well."

Iris's eyes widened.

"... What happened?" she asked.

"We couldn't understand each other at all, and he called down his powers of electricity," N answered, dropping his hand again. "It didn't hit me, but the shrapnel from the attack did."

Iris smiled weakly.

"Sounds better than how it first went for Reshiram anAd I," she said. "I actually almost died. If it hadn't been for—" She came to a sudden halt, realizing she was giving away too much, _far_ too much. She had been so wrapped up by her unexpected connection to N that she nearly revealed Cilan's name.

"You almost died?" N sounded genuinely shocked. "Someone who can speak to Dragons like you?"

"You said it yourself," Iris said with another uncertain smile. "Dragons are hard to connect to. Even for people like me."

They reached the doors leading outside. They were guarded by two Plasma grunts, but N shooed them away before grasping the handles to push the doors open. Yet, he paused to look at Iris. "You must be careful," he warned. "Most of these Pokémon have been hurt by humans. Most recently, we rescued quite a number who had been betrayed by their trainers during some event in the—" He paused, struggling to remember. "Pokémon Cabaret Assembly… no, that's not it… Pokémon Caregivers Association.. no, that's not it either…"

Iris's jaw dropped.

" _Pokémon Connoisseur Association?!_ " she offered.

"Yes, yes, that's it!" N said a wave of his finger.

"Wait. How were they betrayed?" Iris asked.

"They were callously exchanged between humans for personal observation, poked and prodded for—" N stopped, shuddering. "Poetically, one of the PCA's buildings happened to burn down that same day."

Iris's breath caught in her throat. She jerked her head forward as N finally pushed open the doors.

There were seemingly countless numbers of Pokémon wandering the expansive grassy meadow beyond the doors. Yet, a group of four, huddled together, immediately stood out to Iris as her bare feet touched the dewy grass.

"No way…" she breathed. " _No way!_ " To N's surprise, she sprinted forward.

"What are you—" he started, but Iris did not hear.

"Samurott! Stoutland! Sawsbuck! Darmanitan!" she called out. The four turned their heads, and Iris stumbled and fell forward. Her strength still hadn't quite fully restored, and she worked to catch her breath.

"You…. You might not remember or even know me," she told them. "But I know your trainer. Burgundy, she's my _friend_. She's—"

She was suddenly hounded by one hundred-plus pounds of fur and saliva as Stoutland tackled her with a big kiss on the side of her face. Iris laughed to the point where she nearly cried whilst the other three Pokémon excitedly gathered around her, too.

N, meanwhile, only stared in amazement, entirely unsure of what he was seeing and how he should process it.


	10. What Snaps

**Chapter X: What Snaps**

 _5/12/16_

 _Alder told us today he believes Team Plasma has acquired Zekrom. The news was appalling to say the least. Marshall suggested we immediately take action against them. He was infuriated when Alder said it wouldn't be wise, but Caitlin came to Alder's defense and pointed out that we do not know Team Plasma's location. We cannot chase after an unknown. Grimsley agreed and said it might be more prudent to wait for them to come to us. Alder believes it is inevitable they will lay siege to the Unova League. We will be ready._

 _In the meantime, I have set aside all other reading to delve into research on the Tao Trio. Marshall had also proposed we find Reshiram and take him into our care, but Alder said that, too, would be unwise and vaguely suggested the Truth Seekers are already looking into the matter. Regardless, I am thinking of what we might do once both Reshiram and Zekrom are safely secured._

 _Already, I may have found a solution. It is late, though, and I need rest. I have marked the page for my reference._

* * *

Cilan waited with bated breath, watching every slight gesture or twitch Benga made. He was back in the situation room, but all the television monitors were off. Benga sat behind the desk, his eyes low and full of contemplation as he rubbed his temple with a single hand. Hilda stood nearest to him, her hands clutched and chin held high.

Benga dropped his hand back to the desk and flicked his gaze toward Hilda.

"You really believe she's alive?" he asked.

"I'm almost certain," she confidently answered. It was heartening to hear her say it, not only because it lended itself to their cause, but also because it offered Cilan private reassurances.

"'Almost' leaves too big a possibility that she's not," Benga said bluntly. "I don't want to risk lives for a 'maybe.' If we're going to devise a rescue mission, there needs to be payout."

Cilan's mouth hung open a little in shock—he had fully expected Hilda's endorsement would be enough to convince Benga—but he soon closed it again, gritting his teeth as he did.

"You certainly were willing to risk Iris's life," he said in a low, angered voice. Benga was already sighing, but Cilan continued, "Wasn't it you who declared that people die in war?"

"Not this again," Benga groaned.

"Who even said anything about a rescue mission?" Hilda cut in, addressing Benga, before a full-fledged fight could break loose. "Cilan only requested that he gets a shot at working with Reshiram. He and Iris were close. It could work. And it only seems fair since Iris specifically left with him."

"Yes, working with Reshiram with the intention of rescuing Iris," Benga added. He paused before sighing again, rubbing tiredly at his eyes before adding, "Look. It's not that I don't want Iris alive and safe and here with us again. I do. But I made a huge mistake in judgment, and I don't want to make another one."

Cilan was not entirely sure how to interpret that last statement. Did he mean that he made a strategic mistake that cost them an upper hand? Or did he mean he made a mistake in trusting Iris, and he didn't want to misplace his trust in Cilan?

"Maybe so," Hilda said, "but what use is it to just wait here? We've been training, and now we're at the point where we should take action. Iris is a hero to people here—she's the 'girl who captured Reshiram.' Let's use that to drive us forward."

Benga contemplated this for a moment. Then, looking more resolved, he fixed his gaze on Cilan and asked, "You do realize that this is dangerous? Even more than when Iris was trying to command him? Pokémon usually don't respond as well to people who aren't their trainers. And you're not familiar with training Dragon-types, either. Iris was an expert, and even she struggled."

"With all due respect, I already know all this," Cilan said a little tersely. He stopped to take in a deep breath, so his voice wouldn't shake when he said, "And I'm ready to take the risks."

Benga watched him silently for a while. Then, clearing his throat, he straightened up and said, "We'll start tomorrow."

* * *

"How did you know those Pokémon?"

N posed the question suddenly, not long after they had returned to Shauntal's room. He had been quiet for most of the afternoon, but Iris tried not to think much of it. She wanted to enjoy her time outside in days without being bothered by his reticence. Still, despite the many Pokémon she had met over the course of the day, she immediately knew to which specific ones he was referring.

"They belonged to a friend," Iris answered, keeping it simple. N frowned, obviously dissatisfied with her response.

"Pokémon don't belong to people," he said a little sternly. Iris's eyebrows shot up; she was a little taken aback by his tone.

"Right..." she agreed. "Well, they were her—" She struggled for the right word. "—partners."

"You just said they 'belonged' to her," N continued. His disapproving tone did not fluctuate. "If a partner owns another partner, then they're not 'partners' at all."

Iris stared and briefly pressed her lips hard together.

"You asked, N," she said, sounding annoyed. At the hint of her displeasure, N immediately dropped his steely demeanor.

"Sorry," he began apologetically. "I didn't mean to become so…"

"Preachy?" Iris finished for him. She looked away from him as she flopped on the bed. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry that I've offended you," N went on, clasping his hands with penance.

"I'm not offended." Iris shrugged. "I mean, I guess I agree with you."

N tilted his head.

"Is that why those Pokemon were so happy to see you?" he asked. "Because you understand them? Because you also value their independence?"

"What?" Iris gave him an odd look. "No—I mean—" She stumbled to correct herself. "Yes, but that wasn't really what it was about. They just recognized me as a familiar face, and they were happy to learn their trainer was fine."

N furrowed his eyebrows.

"That doesn't make sense," he said.

"Why not?"

"Their trainer betrayed them," N answered. Iris remembered him repeating a similar sentiment earlier, when he told her where the Pokémon had come from.

"I don't understand where you're getting this," Iris said a little dryly. She hadn't experienced it up until recently, but he was adamant when discussing matters related to his cause.

"My father explained it to me," N said, and Iris mentally noted, _Of course he did_. N continued, "They were part of a trafficking event. Trainers sent their Pokémon away to have their worth determined by some sort of evaluator. I was deeply disturbed when I heard about it…" He stopped when he saw Iris's expression. "What's the matter?"

"You have a very warped understanding of Pokémon Connoisseurs," she said bluntly.

"Pokémon Connoisseurs?" N inquisitively repeated.

"Yeah, that's what they're called," Iris said. "It's not about evaluating a Pokémon's 'worth.' They evaluate a Pokémon to learn their nature, their abilities, their strengths… that sort of thing. They usually also tell the trainer how to become closer to the Pokémon."

"Are you sure?" N sounded doubtful, and Iris let out a slightly incredulous laugh.

"I'm sure," she insisted. "My best friend's a connoisseur. And the girl who—" She caught herself before she could say _owns_ again. "—is partners with those Pokémon is also a connoisseur."

"If that's the case, why didn't she evaluate them herself?" N asked.

Iris shrugged again.

"It's nice to get an outside opinion sometimes."

N seemed to think on this for a moment while Iris looked away again, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. She hoped he would leave soon, if only because she could feel her frustration toward him starting to ferment, and she didn't want to snap.

Yet, N didn't seem to pick up on her cue, as he began a conversation anew with, "You seem to love Pokémon very much."

Iris glanced back at him.

"Yeah, I do," she said. "Of course I do."

"Then why is it you're with Truth Seekers?" he asked.

"I'm not with them," Iris corrected.

"You were working with them, weren't you?" he pressed.

"Sort of." Iris wanted to leave it at that. N didn't seem to have an appreciation for nuances, and Iris was definitely not in the mood for explaining her complex relationship with the Seekers. Still, her exasperation with his ignorance drove her to impulsively add, "But being a Truth Seeker doesn't necessarily mean you don't love Pokémon."

N blinked.

"I don't understand."

Iris pressed her hands to her face and groaned. The last thing she ever expected to do in her life was defend the Truth Seekers, and yet, here she was. She dropped her hands again.

"A lot of Truth Seekers love Pokémon too," she explained. "They're gym leaders, professors, trainers… they care about Pokémon, and they care about Unova."

"Is it not true that the Truth Seekers are grooming their Pokémon to use them as a tool of war?" N asked.

Iris mentally stumbled for a moment. It was true—it was one of several reasons she was wary of the group—but she still retorted, "Isn't that what Team Plasma is using Zekrom for?"

N seemed as equally, if not more, shaken by the suggestion.

"N-No," he stammered, griping for his certainty.

"Then what did Team Plasma capture Zekrom for?" Iris pressed.

"I…"

"You don't know?" Iris folded her arms. "Well, I can almost guarantee you it's so you can beat down the Truth Seekers and get full control of Unova."

N's eyes hardened.

"You know nothing of our cause," he said in a low voice. "You've been misled by them. They've framed us, turned you against us. If you saw the tapes my father showed me, then you would know."

"Tapes?!" Iris let out an incredulous laugh and buried her face in her hands. "There's no reasoning with you. You're just gonna keep believing what you believe."

"I hold true to my ideals," N fought back. Iris looked up in surprise at hearing his voice rise. Her intimations had obviously upset him. "Do you? You profess not to be one of the Truth Seekers, and you lecture me on us taking in Zekrom, but you captured Reshiram, and you to him to them, whom you admit use Pokémon as—"

"I captured Reshiram so no one could misuse him," Iris cut him off. "Including the Truth Seekers."

"You do not have him now," N pointed out.

"I left him in good hands," Iris argued. "You don't even know where Zekrom _is_."

"As I explained, he is in the care of my father," N said. "He, too, is in good hands."

"Well, good," Iris huffed. "I'm glad you think so."

"I do," N indignantly replied. He paused and took in a deep breath, recollecting himself. "It is nearing dinnertime. Would you like to join me?"

Iris suddenly became aware of a few pangs of hunger, but she wasn't willing to entertain them.

"I think I'm actually going to sleep early," she declined. N pursed his lips.

"Good night then," he said.

Iris didn't respond. She turned onto her belly and waited for the click of the door indicating he was gone. The hollow feeling her in stomach slowly melded with the hollow feeling that had been sleeping in her chest, and she pushed her face into a pillow and began to cry. It suddenly became too much, built up through her mounting frustration with her situation, with N, and with herself.

After a couple minutes, Iris lifted her head again, sniffling. She didn't know what to do. She came with the intention of saving Zekrom, but she was getting nowhere. She was worried about Reshiram. She was worried about Noivern, and all her other Pokémon. She missed her friends. She missed Cilan.

Iris rubbed her eyes in frustration. There had to be something she could do. There had to be some way she could get N to listen to her. She knew he was just as frustrated as she was: They _seemed_ like they should be on the same page, but they weren't. They had a lot in common, shared a lot of common beliefs, but neither of them were willing to make the necessary concessions that would finally bring them together.

The solution struck Iris suddenly. She sat up again, brushed away any lingering tears, and generally pulled herself together again. Then, she stood and headed toward the door.

The walk was not long, and she could see yellow light from behind the door of her destination, He would be in there. Iris did not bother knocking. She merely pushed the door open, and there was Ghetsis, sitting behind Alder's desk.

"Ah. Iris." He paused whatever he was working on and smiled at her devilishly over his assets. His expression caused Iris to nearly lose her nerve, but she remained firm. "What brings you here."

Iris looked him directly in the eyes before saying, "I want to see the tapes."

"Pardon?" Ghetsis raised an eyebrow.

"N said you have tapes that show how bad the Truth Seekers are," Iris elaborated. "I want to see them."

Ghetsis stared at her silently for a while, and Iris began to feel a sense of vindication setting in. Then, he pulled open a drawer, searched around in it and held out a VHS across his desk.

"Suit yourself," he said. "This one, I think, you'll find particularly interesting."

Iris stared at the tape blankly. She hadn't expected for there to actually be one. Iris hesitantly reached out and took it.

"You should have a television in your room, correct?" Ghetsis went on. "I will be interested to hear your reaction."

Iris cleared her throat.

"Shauntal's room," she corrected.

Ghetsis didn't miss a beat. He leaned forward and said in a menacingly low voice, "Shauntal is dead."

* * *

"Are you _insane_?!" Chili grabbed Cilan's shoulders the moment he stepped through the door back into his own room. It was late, well past curfew, and he had expected to find his brothers and Trip asleep—so suddenly having his younger triplet brother in his face was a surprise to say the least.

"Wh—What?" Cilan stammered. "What is this about?"

He looked past Chili and Cress, who were both on their feet and looking deeply worried, toward Trip. The other trainer was lying flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. When Cilan caught his eye, Trip only said, "Blame Burgundy, not me."

It was enough to give Cilan an idea of the conversation's direction.

"Cilan, did you really go to Benga to ask if you could train Reshiram?" Cress asked hurriedly, sounding unsure with every word, as though he could not even believe the notion of it.

Cilan swallowed.

"I did," he said. "And Benga agreed."

" _What_?!" Cilan winced; Chili was near-screaming. "There's _no_ way, Cilan."

"We can't let you do that," Cress quickly jumped in. "You'll be killed."

Cilan gently pushed Chili's hands off his shoulders.

"I know you're worried…" he tentatively began.

"Cilan, be realistic," Chili pressed. "You're a great connoisseur, but you're nota _Dragon Master_!"

Their fear, _genuine_ fear, pricked Cilan with a deep guilt, and he began to struggle with himself. "Look, there's—" he started again. "There's a lot more to it than just that."

"We _know_ you love Iris," Chili said bluntly. "But this isn't a fairytale. This is real life. This is—"

"It's not—" Cilan fought hard with his own words. "It's—" He took in a deep breath, briefly clenched his fists, then burst out, "There's something I need to tell you!"

All went quiet. Chili and Cress stared. Trip sat up, looking at Cilan wide-eyed. Cilan made eye contact with him, then turned and made sure the door was shut. Cress glanced at Trip behind them, then looked back at Cilan.

"Should we... go somewhere private?" he gently suggested.

"He already knows," Cilan said plainly, guiltily. "I… I haven't been honest with either of you."

Chili and Cress said nothing, only waiting, partially stunned. Cilan breathed in again, gathering the courage for his confession.

"I caught Reshiram," he said. "Not Iris."

* * *

It had been a long time since Iris had used a VHS tape. In fact, she couldn't remember if she had ever used one. She sat on the ground before the television set and opened the glass case where the player was located. It was covered in a thin coat of dust; clearly it had been a long time since it was last used. She pressed the power button, tried to insert the tape, realized she was inserting it backwards, then turned it around and pushed it in.

The television screen briefly crackled, then began to play. Iris wasn't prepared, and she scrambled to pause the tape before heading over to the light switch. She dimmed the lights, then sat down in front of the television again. She pressed play.

The tape resumed. It was footage from a security camera, not unlike the types she had seen in the Truth Seekers' situation room. It was recording some sort of street in Black City. She only knew it was Black City because it was labeled as such in the bottom-left corner.

A few minutes went by. Nothing seemed to happen, but Iris got the strange sense that she had been on that street before. She wracked her mind for recollection, and eventually settled on this: The street was en route to to the PokéMart she and Trip visited prior to their departure to Icirrus City. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe she would see herself and him in the tape.

Iris squinted at the date and time below the Black City label. It was June 11th. She tried hard to remember when she and Trip had gone through Black City. The Striaton Gym burned down on June 6th, two days before their group arrived there. They left again on June 9th and spent several days traveling… which meant they couldn't have been to Black City until at least June 12th, so whatever this tape depicted, it happened before they arrived.

Iris waited. And waited. A couple people occasionally passed by on screen, but they did nothing of note. Iris was beginning to wonder if Ghetsis had given her the wrong tape, or even if he was just trying to play a game with her.

Her eyes drifted back toward the time in the corner. An hour had passed. Iris let out a frustrated sigh, reached out to the VHS player, and pressed the eject button. It was getting late, and she was tired. As soon as she pulled the tape out, however, she noticed a time stamp written in black marker on the front.

2:28:00.

Iris groaned. _Of course_.

She put the tape back in. The video picked up where it left off, but Iris began to fast-forward through it. She stopped a minute or so before the written time and waited. It was late at night in the video, and the display wasn't clear, so she leaned forward, squinting her eyes.

The video crackled again, and then all she could hear was her own breathing.

A figure appeared on the corner of the screen. It was too dark to see his or her face yet. The figure stopped in front of the base of a communication tower, seemingly to evaluate it. Then, the figure pulled a Pokéball out of his pocket and called forth a Dragonite. He evidently ordered the Dragonite to attack it, as the massive Pokémon body-slammed into it once, twice—until the tower fell with a cascade of sparks, lighting up the trainer's face for an instant.

An instant was all Iris needed. She immediately recognized the trainer as Benga, and her jaw dropped.

The details of his expression disappeared in the night again. He recalled his Dragonite and turned his back toward the camera, bending down in front of the fallen tower. He stayed there for a few moments, and Iris couldn't determine what he was doing—until he stood back and walked off screen. Iris could barely make out the outline of a freshly painted blue thunderbolt on the bent steel.

Iris stopped the tape and sat back, blinking slowly. Eventually, she stood up and turned the light back on. She stayed in the room for a while, laying flat on the bed, unsure of what to do with herself, unsure of what to even _think_.

She was no longer tired. She stood up again and left through the door. As she headed back down the hallway, she felt as though she were wandering in an alternate reality. No, she had never liked the Truth Seekers. She didn't even particularly like _Benga_. But she hadn't doubted his leadership and his good intentions, nor had she doubted Team Plasma's deep-rooted mendacity. Not until now.

Iris passed Alder's office. She definitely wasn't in the state of mind to see Ghetsis then. She wasn't sure where the dining hall was—she had mostly eaten alone in Shauntal's room—but she figured that was where she might find N, if he was still there.

She stopped suddenly when, as luck would have it, he was standing right in front of her, heading into a different room.

"N!" she called out. He stopped and looked her way.

"Iris?" he inquired, sounding confused. Iris stopped in front of him and took in a deep breath, ready to speak. Words failed her, however, and she groaned and pressed a hand to her head.

"Is everything all right?" N asked worriedly.

"I… no…" she admitted. "N, I need to talk to you."

"Of course," N graciously said. "Come in." He pushed opened the door and politely ushered Iris inside. She hurried under his hand, then froze once she saw what was before her.

Toys. Children's toys. A train set, building blocks, a full set of sports balls neatly stacked in a box. A mat of a basketball half-court, complete with a hoop. A skating ramp.

"What's the matter?" Iris jumped when he touched her shoulder. She slid out from under him and backed up. N looked worried as he continued, "You look so pale. Perhaps I should get you some water."

"No… that's okay," Iris said weakly. "N, where are we?"

"Oh!" N turned his head, looking about the place with a gentle smile. "This is my bedroom, of course."

Iris was dumbfounded.

"But, this is…" She gestured to the cavalcade of playthings that surrounded them. "All stuff for kids."

"I am Ghetsis's child, am I not?" N said, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you still play with any of this?" Iris asked. N paused, looking contemplative.

"I suppose I don't, now that you mention it," he said. "Some of the Pokémon do, though." He indicated some scratch marks on the side of the skating ramp. "That's why my father suggested this still be brought here with me when we moved."

His admission freed her of some uncertainty. With a clearer mind, and determination burning in chest, Iris cleared her throat and said, "N, I feel like you've been really open with me since the beginning."

The statement visibly baffled him.

"I have no reason to lie to you," he said.

"Yeah…" Iris briefly trailed off, but she steeled herself once again. "Well, I don't think I've been completely open with you. I've started trying to be honest, but I just stop short. I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen."

N pursed his lips, still looking confused.

"Okay," he agreed. Iris took in a deep breath.

"I went to Ghe—your father—and I asked about the tapes he showed you," she confessed. "I watched one for myself. You're right. I think in some ways maybe Team Plasma _has_ been framed. I don't fully understand why yet, but I see it now."

N's eyes lit up, and he beamed at her.

"I knew you would," he said cheerfully. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'm not finished yet," Iris said a little tersely. N recoiled back at her tone, and Iris felt bad she had snapped. Still, she calmly then added, "My perception of the Truth Seekers has changed. It hasn't for Team Plasma."

N's expression fell.

"I… Why not?" he said. His voice was small. Iris again felt bad, but she did not lose her resolve.

"N," she said quietly, leaning toward him as she pointed toward his toys. "This is not normal."

"It isn't?" N almost sounded worried then.

"No." Iris shook her head. "How old are you? 21? 22?"

"25," N answered. He folded his hands together and looked away. He nervously twiddled his thumbs for a moment, thinking. Then, he said, "I suppose my father just doesn't want his boy to grow up."

"Exactly!" Iris exclaimed. Realizing she had said it rather loudly, she repeated in a more even tone, "Exactly. N, you're being controlled by him. He's keeping you sheltered, molding your view of the world so you'll do exactly what he wants you to."

"That's not true," N denied.

"N, that fire at the PCA, it was started by Team Plasma," Iris continued. "Pokémon and people died in it."

"That's not _true_." N's voice reached a higher pitch fervent denial. "We are not about violence. Our goal is simple: We want to help Pokémon by ending the tyranny—"

"Where do you think you are, N?" Iris cut in with a frustrated huff. "Who do you think you replaced? Alder was _murdered_ so your father could install you as the next Champion! The room where I'm staying, it belonged to a woman named Shauntal, and she's _dead_ because—"

"You've been misled—" N insisted, his voice continuing to rise. "Even if people were hurt, they were trainers, they were mistreating their Pokémon—"

" _I'm a trainer_!" Iris burst out. Something about the way she _said_ it, something about the way she _looked_ , struck N more than anything else Iris had ever said. She watched him shrivel up, almost cower, with his eyes wide. Still, she continued, "You _said_ you'd listen. I listened to you and watched the tape. Can't you do the same for me?"

N held his face in his hands. He sucked in his breath, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.

"Can you prove it?" he asked.

"What?" Iris straightened up.

N lowered his hands. His eyes were still cast downward, however.

"Can you prove it was Team Plasma that burned down the PCA, and not a set-up by the Truth Seekers?" he quietly elaborated.

Iris stared. She couldn't. And she didn't know if she _ever_ could.

"Maybe your father has a tape," Iris weakly suggested. "He has a collection of them, doesn't he?"

"I could ask him," N conceded, closing his eyes. Iris scoffed, folding her arms and looking away.

"He wouldn't give it to you," she said. "If an incriminating video existed, why would he ever show it you?"

N's anger suddenly rose again, growing out of the solemn demeanor he kept, growing into a fiery wrath unlike anything Iris had ever heard from him. He pressed his palms hard into his face.

"Why must you be so _difficult_ , Hilda!?" he snarled. Iris snapped her head back toward him. N, likewise, had jerked his gaze up toward hers, looking just as shocked as she felt. He gaped for a moment before stammering, "I-Iris, I'm sorry. I—"

"Hilda?" Iris repeated the name gently, inquisitively.

N covered his face again. He took in a deep breath, then sighed.

"I need to be alone," he said. "I'm sorry."

"N..." Iris started to reach for his arm, but he jerked away before she could touch him.

"Please!" he pleaded with a warning ache in his voice. "Don't make me ask again."

Iris withdrew her hand. He turned his back to her, and Iris swallowed before quietly acquiescing with an "Okay." She quickly left his room, shutting the pale blue door behind her.

* * *

Iris had no dreams that night. She was heavy with exhaustion, weighed down by contrition and frustration, so she fell asleep almost immediately after collapsing into bed. And for a few precious moments, the world disappeared into nothing, her problems with it.

"Iris? … Iris! Are you awake?"

Iris jolted back into reality, her eyes still burning with sleep. She could make out little in the darkness, but she could see in the green glow of the nearby digital clock that N was kneeling at her bedside. She squinted at said clock. It was past 2 a.m. She had been asleep for several hours, though it felt like it had only been several minutes.

"Iris. Are you—"

"I am now." Iris reached over to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. In the light, she could see that N looked deeply upset. "What's the matter?"

He held a tape out to her. It was labeled "Nimbasa City PCA. 5/30/16. 13:26:00." Iris's breath caught. It was the date the Nimbasa campus burned, in the afternoon, around the time the attack happened.

"I found it in my father's office after he went to bed," N said, his voice shivering. Something in his tone told Iris he'd already watched it—but the way he held it out to her, he wanted her to see it for herself too.

Without a word, Iris threw the covers off herself, taking the tape on her way out of bed. N followed her to the television, where Iris quickly inserted the tape. It began to play. It showed the PCA in flames; N _had_ watched it, but apparently couldn't bear to finish. Iris rewound the tape to the designated time stamp.

At 13:26:00, 1:26 p.m. on May 30th, a man who was undeniably Team Plasma's own Barret walked into the building. Eleven minutes later, Iris saw herself and Cilan walk in. Barret came out moments afterward. (Iris remembered with sudden, stunning clarity that she and Cilan had run into him on their way inside. She hadn't known who he was then). He waited outside for a while, leaning against a pilaster, until no one else was around. Then he pulled a spray can out of his jacket and wrote "LIBERATION FOR ALL POKÉMON," with a distinct lightning bolt on the end, across the face of the building.

He walked away. Two minutes later, there was a silent explosion, and people came pouring out of the doors. Iris paused the tape there. She didn't want to relive the moment any further.

"N. I'm…" Iris stopped short when she looked at him. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.

"Iris," he began, his voice shockingly even. "Have you ever been in love?"

The question threw her for a loop. It would have been the last thing she expected him to say in this situation. Iris shifted uncomfortably on the floor.

"Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

N closed his eyes.

"I was," he said. "I was in love with an ideal. I've given up almost everything for it, lived my life for it. And when truth came to me, I rejected her."

"Are you talking about Hilda?" Iris asked. He ignored the question.

"I just want this war to end. I don't want anyone else to be hurt." He looked at the screen again. "Not like this. Never like this." His face fell into his hands, and he shook with a deep sob. Iris watched him helplessly for a moment. Then, she looked away, unable to even bear witnessing his genuine despair. Her eyes locked on the floor as she traced her finger along a knot in the dark hardwood, thinking.

After a few minutes of listening to him cry, Iris, with great hesitation, said, "Maybe you don't have to give up on your ideals. Not yet, at least." N looked up and at her. His eyes were bloodshot and glossy, his face an ugly shade of red, but there was a glimmer of hope in his expression. Iris wetted her lips. "Do you know the legend of the Tao Trio?"

He blinked.

"I… I'm afraid I'm not familiar," N admitted.

"Oh!" His confession caught her by surprise. Everyone knew the legend of the Tao Trio; it was just the history behind it that was less well-known. Or so Iris had thought. "Well…" Iris looked around the room, wondering if there was a book, or photo, or _something_ that could help her explain it. Then she remembered the book on Shauntal's desk. She stood up, grabbed _Tao Trio Origins_ , and plopped down beside N again. It automatically opened to a page Shauntal had marked with a sticky note. It was the beginning of chapter focused solely on the Aboriginal Dragon, accompanied by a photocopy of a painting showing what the Dragon may have looked like.

Iris furrowed her eyebrows. That wasn't quite what she needed. She flipped through many pages, looking for something more detailed. Finally, she settled on a full-page spread of a famous painting depicting the Great War: the Hero of Truth and the Hero of Ideals, on the backs of Reshiram and Zekrom respectively, with Kyurem caught in the middle.

"So the Tao Trio is made up three different Legendary Pokémon: Reshiram, Zekrom, and Kyurem," Iris explained, pointing to each Pokémon as she spoke. "A long time ago, they all used to be part of one Dragon, which we call the Aboriginal Dragon. The Aboriginal Dragon was actually worshipped by the Draconid."

N wiped his eyes, having recomposed himself, and asked, "You're a Draconid, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Iris nodded, but didn't linger on the fact for long. "Anyway, explorers from the Indigo regions came to Unova and met the Draconid and the Aboriginal Dragon. The leader of the explorers was named Vero Albinus. The leader of the Draconid was named Taima. The two originally got along, but Taima got angry when he learned that Vero actually wanted to claim the land and the Dragon for himself. A war eventually broke out, and the Aboriginal Dragon became so distressed that it split apart into the Tao Trio. Reshiram was claimed by Vero and the explorers, while Zekrom sided with Taima and the Draconid. Kyurem was the negative space, the leftovers, I guess you could say."

N watched her intently as she spoke. However, realizing she had suddenly cast her gaze aside, he asked, "What happened next?"

Iris's eyes slowly drifted back to the book.

"Most of the Draconid died," she said solemnly. "While both sides had Dragons fighting for them, we were outnumbered and technologically outmatched."

N nodded slightly. His eyes, too, fell back down to the book.

"So what does this mean for us?" he asked.

"Well… the story's evolved into a legend of sorts," she began. "The lore tells us that only the Hero of Truth—Vero Albinus—" Iris pointed to his artistic depiction. "—can control Reshiram. And that the Hero of Ideals—Taima—" Iris moved her finger toward him. "—can control Zekrom." Iris withdrew her hand. "For a long time, I thought it was just a made-up addition to the history of the story. But I've started to think it might be real."

"What do you mean?"

Iris felt her stomach twist up into knots. She looked directly at N, who was looking back with dried eyes and a sincere, inquisitive expression. She drew in a shaky breath. This was it. Did she trust him? Could she trust him? Did she have any other choice?

"I'm going to tell you something," she said. She tried to sound resolved, but her voice wavered slightly. "I want you to promise you'll listen and let me fully explain myself."

"I will," N agreed, nodding.

"No, but really," Iris pressed. "You got upset earlier the last time we did this. If I'm gonna tell you, I really need you to just hear me out."

The gravity in her voice seemed to affect him. N nodded again.

"I will," he promised again, more seriously. Iris took in another deep breath.

"I didn't capture Reshiram," she said. N's eyes widened, but he kept true to his word and said nothing. Still, Iris hurriedly added, "It was my friend. He's a descendant of Vero Albinus. I tried talking to Reshiram myself, but it didn't work. It wasn't until he came that we captured him." N's lip quivered. Iris continued, "But… I am a descendant of Taima."

Clarity lit N's eyes.

"So you believe only you can connect with Zekrom," he said. Iris nodded, but said nothing. N thought on this for a long moment. Then, he continued, "I was being truthful when I said I don't know where Zekrom is. But I might have an idea."

Iris straightened up, her breath catching in her throat.

"So you'll take me to him?!" she asked.

"I'll try," he said. He then hesitated before adding, "But I must ask… Even if you are able to connect with Zekrom, as your friend has with Reshiram, how will that end the war?"

Iris stopped, staring. She glanced down at the book, turning a few pages as she mulled over the question. Then, suddenly, she drew in a sharp breath and quickly flipped back to the page Shauntal had marked, the one with the artwork of the Aboriginal Dragon.

"This," she said with determination, opening the book wider and holding it up to N. "This is how."

* * *

No words were exchanged when Cilan and Benga met on main floor the following morning. They nodded to each other in tacit greeting, at which point Benga held Reshiram's Pokéball out toward the connoisseur. Cilan stiffly accepted it, and they turned together to go into the elevator.

It wasn't until after Benga entered his code into the keypad and they began moving that they, now alone in their silence, began to speak. Neither of them were looking at each other. So it came suddenly when Benga said, "You must love her a lot, huh?"

Cilan flicked his eyes toward him.

"I do," Cilan said.

Benga hummed and looked forward again. "Let's hope that's enough for Reshiram to listen to you," he said. Cilan's gaze settled firmly on the leader then.

"If it is," he said, "will we go to the Unova League to find Iris?"

"We'll see." Cilan could hear the doubt dripping in Benga's voice. In a way, he understood it. What would the line for success be? Not dying? Total obedience? Going into the League on the first benchmark alone would be foolish, and the second one was unrealistic.

Silence consumed them for a moment longer. Then Benga cleared his throat.

"I have a question for you," he started. Cilan glanced back at him and nodded, indicating he should go on. They finally made direct eye contact then, and Benga asked, "How'd you swing getting Hilda to do you that favor?"

Cilan mentally stumbled. Benga's gaze, however, was unrelenting. Cilan swallowed and managed a weak smile.

"I'm not sure I know myself," he admitted. Benga hummed again.

"A wild card, that Hilda," he mused. "Yeah, she and Iris _are_ a lot alike. Maybe that's why Hilda thinks she's still alive."

Cilan blinked. He was about to ask Benga what he meant by that, but then the elevator doors opened, and they were in the Chamber of Truth. Benga moved forward first, and Cilan followed.

"I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again," Benga said as both men stopped at the raised platform. "I don't know if I can save you if things go wrong. I never questioned whether Reshiram would kill Iris down here. But I have my doubts with you."

Cilan pursed his lips and looked above at the window to the sea. He then let on a wry smile.

"Your doubts in me can't be that strong," he remarked. "Otherwise, we'd both drown."

Benga raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback, but he said nothing. Cilan faced forward again and ascended the steps to the center platform. He held Reshiram's Pokéball out. It felt warm in his hand.

Cilan closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Iris wanted him to trust her, as she did him. Which meant he also needed to trust himself.

"Reshiram, we need to talk."

* * *

Several days passed uneventfully, and N was absent for most of them. He had promised to take Iris to see Zekrom, but had since then disappeared, and Iris was left alone. She mostly stayed in Shauntal's room, as usual, but occasionally ventured out to try to find N. A few times she caught him, but he was distant and seemed anxious to end the conversation at any mention of Zekrom. Iris began to worry he was having second thoughts, and she brought her concerns up to him in a private moment.

"I haven't changed my mind," he promised her. "But you must understand: You are being very closely watched. We have to bide our time for the right moment." He paused and scratched worriedly at his chin before adding, "I also fear my father thinks I've grown too close to you, like last time."

Iris didn't ask him to elaborate on what he meant by "last time," but she could make a pretty good guess. Still, with N's assurance that he remained committed, Iris resolved she needed to start getting ready on her own terms.

Until N mentioned it, Iris hadn't fully recognized how closely she _was_ being watched. She always knew it in the back of her mind—she was their prisoner, and she wasn't going to be easily let go—but now that she was making grounds for an escape, she could feel the heat of a dozen vigilant gazes. Every door was guarded. All the windows were sealed tight. Whenever she walked past Alder's office, she could feel the red glare of Ghetsis's eye on her.

One evening, on her way to try to see N in his room, Ghetsis even called her in there.

"Did you ever find the time to watch the tape I gave you?" he asked with a dark trill of amusement.

Iris stood stiffly before him.

"I did," she said.

"What did you think?"

Iris didn't blink.

"You were right," she admitted. "I did find it interesting." Ghetsis seemed satisfied with this response and sent her on her way. Iris hoped it meant he thought N was successfully swaying her to their side.

She started going out at night, mainly. The one benefit to wearing her dressed-down version of Team Plasma's uniform was the stealth it offered. It was easier to sneak around and explore the League in black. On this particular matter, she couldn't ask N for help because she knew he wouldn't understand and wouldn't condone it even if she tried to explain.

It took several long nights of poking around in all the rooms, quietly opening drawers, hurrying back to Shauntal's room when she feared she might be discovered, before she found exactly what she wanted: Pokéballs. Empty ones. She counted out five and took them back to Shauntal's room, where she hid them in a bookbag.

Iris studied when the guards posted at the back door changed shifts. She wasn't allowed outside to see the Pokémon without N's accompaniment, and she needed time alone. One afternoon, she did manage to convince N to go out with her.

"It's just for some fresh air," Iris insisted. "I think we both need some space to think."

"Yes… that would be good," N agreed, seemingly catching her drift.

N, again, ushered away the guards before they headed into the meadow. He was greeted by several of his Pokémon companions once outside, and he knelt down before them, speaking gently. Iris smiled weakly at him, then turned her attention to Burgundy's Pokémon, further out in the field. She went to them and also knelt at their side.

"We're getting out of here soon. You'll see Burgundy again. I swear," she promised them while she stroked Sawsbuck's side. Sawsbuck gently brayed, heartened by the notion. Darmanitan grinned and Stoutland barked and wagged his tail, equally excited. Only Samurott appeared somewhat skeptical.

Iris smiled crookedly at her and gestured for her to come closer with a hand. The Water-type hesitated but bowed her head so Iris could pet her snout. Now having them all close, Iris glanced back at N, who was still occupied, and leaned in confidentially toward the four Pokémon.

"Listen. There's something I need you to do for me tonight if this is going to work…"

N was standing again, now overlooking the field. Iris soon joined him, and they waited together for a few minutes in silence. The sun was starting to set in a brilliant bloom of warm summer colors over the horizon of trees.

A breeze slid past them. Iris pushed a loose piece of her hair out of her face and glanced at N. He was staring distantly, obviously deep in thought. She almost felt bad interrupting him. Almost.

"N," she called to him. Her voice was firm. The color of his eyes focused again, and he looked at her. "How long are we going to have to wait?"

"I don't know," N answered. "I've explained it to you before. We must wait for the right moment."

Iris briefly closed her eyes and breathed out a frustrated sigh.

"N, there will never be a right moment," she said bluntly. He looked at her with surprise, and Iris continued, "No matter when we decide to do this, there are going to be risks. At this point, we're just procrastinating."

N wetted his lips and turned his head away, saying nothing. Iris sucked in her breath.

"I think I know what this is about," she said. N tensed up and turned toward her again.

"You… You what?"

"You _are_ having second thoughts," Iris accused, though her voice was surprisingly even. "You're not willing to go against your father. You're not willing to let go of—"

"—It is not an easy thing to do," N suddenly lashed out, confirming Iris's suspicions. "It is not an easy thing to disobey your father. Everything was fine with him. Everything made sense with him, until you and—" He stopped himself. Iris somehow found the presence of mind not to lose her temper.

"It wasn't fine, though," Iris said. "I think you've felt for a while something was off, before even I got here. If something didn't feel off, you wouldn't have gone looking for that tape."

N stared. His bottom lip quivered for a moment, and then his head bowed.

"You're right," he quietly conceded. A long pause allowed his admission to sink into both of them. Then, he added, "Still, I cannot help but wonder if I am mistaken. I cannot help but feel like I should ask my father about all of this."

"You know if you do, he'll lie to you," Iris reminded him. "He'll tell you that you're wrong, that you misunderstood something, just like how he told you that my injuries were a misunderstanding, just like how he told you that the PCA's fire was an accident and that Team Plasma heroically saved those Pokémon. You've been taught your entire life to second-guess yourself, but you shouldn't."

N sighed and straightened up again.

"I know," he said. He closed his eyes, recentering himself. When he opened them again, they accompanied a resolved expression. "We'll do it tonight."

Iris's breath caught.

"Really?"

"Yes." N nodded. "I'll meet you at the bottom of the grand staircase at 1." He then clicked his tongue several times, and a Butterfree roaming the field came to him, landing on his extended arm.

Iris whittled hours away pacing in Shauntal's room. She couldn't bring herself to do anything else. Adrenaline, an anxiousness to begin, and a fear of the unknown locked her into utter inproductivity.

She had waited for this for so long. She had risked her life, endured torture, spent weeks as a prisoner just for this chance. And yet, only when the opportunity was rearing its head was she beginning to have doubts. She couldn't shake her memories of when she first encountered Reshiram, how close she'd been to death… She'd staked a lot of faith in the veracity of the legend, and she could only hope she was not too arrogant to assume her own role in it.

A few minutes before 9 p.m.—the time when the guards changed shifts—Iris slipped Shauntal's bookbag around her shoulders. She had filled it with a couple of other items since first using it to stow away the empty Pokéballs: namely, Shauntal's book, _Tao Trio Origins_ , as well as the tape Ghetsis had given her.

Iris crept downstairs. After she had her eyes on the guards, she sank behind a corner and waited. They were chatting indistinctly before 9 p.m. hit, and they left on the dot. Once they were out of view, Iris sprinted toward the doors. She knew she would only have a couple minutes, if even that.

As promised, Burgundy's Pokémon were waiting closeby outside. Iris skidded to her knees before them, throwing open her bookbag and hastily fishing out four Pokéballs.

"Quickly, quickly," she urged them in a whisper. "Get inside."

Stoutland was first, practically leaping into a ball. Sawsbuck followed, gently pressing his nose against the button and letting himself in. Darmanitan was next. Samurott was the last. She and Iris exchanged a look of understanding before they nodded to each other, and Iris took her into a Pokéball as well.

As soon as she had all four, Iris bolted. Back inside, up the stairs, into Shauntal's room with the door slammed behind her. She breathed heavily for a moment, in disbelief that she had managed to succeed. Then, for the first time in weeks, she _grinned_.

Her triumph was enough of a confidence-booster to make the hours until 1 a.m. less agonizing. She laid flat on the bed, eyes closed. She could do this. She _could_ …

The clock struck midnight. One hour left. Now she would only be counting down in minutes.

The air started to grow heavier again. Iris thought of the scar N sported above his left eye. Did she really think she could do any better than him? Iris tried to shake off these new doubts. Yes, she could. Drayden believed she could.

51 minutes.

What would she and N do when they made their escape, she wondered? Go back to the Truth Seekers? They inevitably had to. Cilan still had Reshiram. Iris knew the way into their hideout in Liberty Garden. She could sneak them in there, find Cilan, give Burgundy her Pokémon back…

37 minutes.

Would N and Cilan get along? They could both be annoyingly difficult. It occurred to Iris that she might even need to fight to get Cilan on board with their plan. She didn't know how loyal he still was to the Truth Seekers.

Iris shifted, laying her hand on top of the bookbag. Oh, right. That was why she was bringing the tape.

16 minutes remained.

Iris's mind drifted back to Zekrom. A pit was forming at the bottom of her stomach. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that everything would be fine, that this was fate at work, she couldn't help but feel scared.

4 minutes remained.

Iris was on her feet again, ready to leave. She strode toward the door, turned off the light, but as soon as her hand touched the doorknob, she stopped. She could sense that she wasn't alone. Iris turned around, sank to her knees, and bowed her head.

"Thank you," she said quietly into the darkness. "I know we never met, Shauntal. But you've really helped me these past few weeks."

Iris, collected and having said her peace, rose to her feet and left the room for the last time. N was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The Butterfree he had called to him earlier was perched on his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" N asked when they met.

"I am." Iris nodded with determination. N then turned his head slightly, reaching up to gently touch Butterfree under her chin.

"Go, my friend," he said. "You know what to do."

Butterfree quietly trilled in response and fluttered away. Iris stepped forward to follow her, but N grasped Iris shoulder and implored her to wait. Butterfree returned in a few minutes, and N gestured that they could go ahead. Once they rounded the corner, Iris's eyes widened upon the discovery that the back-door guards, the ones she had worked so hard to evade, were fast asleep on the ground.

N casually stepped over their bodies and pushed open the doors. As soon as they were outside again, Iris turned to him and whispered, "So you think he's out here?"

"Not quite," N replied. He rubbed Butterfree appreciatively on top of her head before setting her free. He then indicated Iris should follow him. Iris didn't understand what he meant by "not quite," but she straightened up with resolve and followed regardless. They moved past herds of sleeping Pokémon into the forest beyond the meadow.

They walked in silence for several minutes, hearing only the hums of Bug-types in the trees and cries of other nocturnal Pokémon through them.

"Please don't be afraid," N suddenly assured her. "I know this forest well. None of the Pokémon here will hurt you."

Iris blinked.

"I'm not afraid," she said. "I spent a lot of time with Pokémon in places like this, too, when I was a kid."

He hummed with interest but said nothing. Then, he suddenly stopped. He tapped his feet against the ground, and there was a distinctly hollow sound. Iris stood dumbstruck as he gestured for her to stand back, bent down, grabbed firmly onto a decaying rope hidden beneath the moss, and pulled a trapdoor open. He jumped down, and Iris followed suit. N reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny flashlight, which he flicked on, illuminating their path. A long tunnel stretched before them.

"Where are we?" Iris asked.

"This leads to my castle," N said. He then added, with more emphasis, "My home."

Iris gaped at him.

"Wait," she began incredulously. "You mean to tell me Team Plasma's hideout was _underground_ , _behind_ the Unova Pokémon League, _the entire time_?"

"Yes," N answered, nodding to her. He didn't seem to quite grasp the enormity of the revelation. "I would give you a tour, but unfortunately, many men still roam the halls, and nothing good could come of them seeing us." He looked forward again. "This particular tunnel actually leads to the dungeon. It's quite dreary in comparison to the rest of the castle, but it's the only place large enough to keep Zekrom."

Iris wasn't listening at that point. Her breathing had grown heavier as realization dawned on her, and she spoke her revelations allowed. "That's how they did it… That's how Team Plasma killed Alder and the Elite Four…" Her voice shook. "They attacked from behind. Alder and the others couldn't have stood a chance."

N winced, hearing her ruminations.

"Please," he cut in, "I don't want to discuss this."

Iris clamped her mouth shut. Her jaw tightened a little, and her eyes were hard. But she paused and let her temporary anger toward him go. Now was definitely not the time.

A thunderous roar suddenly echoed down the tunnel, causing both Iris and N to to perk up in alarm.

"That was Zekrom," Iris immediately said. "He's _hurt_."

N looked wildly at her.

"How can you tell?" he asked. The question struck Iris.

"I… I don't know," she admitted. "I just can."

N furrowed his eyebrows and set his jaw. Iris knew it wasn't a satisfying response, but for whatever reason, he believed her.

"We're almost there," he said. "Come on."

Iris nodded, and they hurried down the rest of the tunnel together, taking care not to trip on the jagged path. Iris could hear her heart pounding in her ears. _How had she known?_ Something in his voice, something in his words… She couldn't quite make out what he was saying yet, but she knew it.

They reached a heavy wooden door at the end. N pulled a key dangling off the chain that hung from his belt loop, but paused long enough to look at Iris.

"This is it," he said. "Are you ready?"

She was shivering, though she wasn't cold, nor was she afraid.

"Yes, yes," Iris urged him. "Just open it!"

N nodded and jammed the key into the lock before throwing the door open.

Iris thought she was ready. She _should_ have been ready. She had seen Dragons mistreated, mishandled, time after time. She had seen her own Noivern chained and close to death. But not even that could have prepared her for this.

Zekrom was imprisoned between two columns that were a few tight pulls away from breaking into pieces and burying the Legendary under rubble. Dark, heavy chains had him by the chest, by the neck, by the limbs, cutting deeply into his scales. His body was painted a dark maroon color with the glaring scars of his past attempts to escape. A sliver of webbing on his left wing was freshly, and deeply, torn. Large, round drops of blood had splattered across the ground beneath it.

"He _is_ hurt!" Iris cried out. She didn't bother taking the stairs down. She jumped straight to the bottom, a substantial drop that sent painful reverberations through her ankles. N stood petrified.

Upon seeing Iris, Zekrom roared, but as he did, the chains pressed further into his neck, choking him and stifling the sound. The pressure of the metal grooves reopened the dried wounds beneath his chin, and Iris could see a deep red beginning to ooze from them. Zekrom wrestled against the columns again, trying to break free.

"Stop!" Iris ran toward him, waving her hands. "You'll kill yourself!"

Zekrom hissed a weak blue fire, an attempt at a Dragon Breath. The attack would have been devastating, but he was obviously dehydrated, and the chains deprived him of the oxygen necessary to fan his fire. Iris realized she would have to change her approach.

She reached into Shauntal's bookbag and pulled out a Pokéball.

"Please, Samurott, I need your help!" Iris said, calling Burgundy's primary partner to her side. "Use Razor Shell to cut those chains!" Samurott shuffled reluctantly in place, frightened by the enraged Pokémon before her. "Please!" Iris pleaded, and Samurott yielded. Unsheathing her left seamitar, Samurott charged toward Zekrom, dodging all the Legendary's erratic movements, and freeing him of the chains that bound him.

Zekrom collapsed to the ground, wheezing. Iris called Samurott back into her Pokéball and whispered words of thanks. She then slid the ball away and slowly started to move toward Zekrom.

Zekrom let out a low, guttural growl in response. Sparks of electricity flared in his tail.

"Don't worry…" Iris assured him, still moving. "I'm not going to hurt you… I promise…" Zekrom shifted, keeping a wary eye on her. "I just want to help. I just want to…" It had been a long time she had last spoken in the tongue of Dragons. In fact, it might have been the longest she had ever gone without doing so. Yet, she still slid into the language with ease, and Zekrom began to calm.

Iris successfully drew close to him, close enough for her to touch his massive snout with her hand. Zekrom closed his eyes, deferring to her, and Iris smiled before placing her other hand atop his head.

"Incredible…" Iris glanced behind her. N had come down the stairs and was approaching. "Just like that, with hardly any effort at all." He beamed at her. "You truly are the Hero of Ideals."

Iris smiled back at him, too. The winning moment was cut short, however, when they heard another distant roar, this one different from Zekrom's. Zekrom's eyes flew open, and he lifted his head, recognizing the sound.

"What was that?!" N asked.

"I-I'm not sure," Iris stammered. "It sounded like…" She breathed in sharply, realizing she also recognized the sound. "Like Reshiram." Iris whipped her head back toward Zekrom, grabbing onto his face. "We have to go. I'll take you to safety, Zekrom." She removed the final empty Pokéball from her bag. Horror crossed N's expression, but there was nothing he could do as Zekrom pressed the tip of his nose against the button and immaterialized, disappearing into the tiny item.

Iris turned quickly, ready to make an escape—until she was knocked breathless to the ground. The sting of the cold earth against her back disoriented her, sending her vision into a spin and a current of sharp pain up her spine. She quickly realized that N had tackled her, his weight crushing the air out of her lungs. He was grabbing for Zekrom's Pokéball, his eyes wild.

"What are you doing, N?!" she shrieked, shoving his chest to give herself room to breathe. "Get off!"

"Let him go!" N demanded. "Release him immediately!"

"What the—? How else are we supposed to get him out of here?!"

"You do not own Pokémon!"

"He agreed to come with me! You saw me work with Samurott! Did you think that was wrong, too?"

" _That's enough!_ " The two were blasted apart by a Shadow Ball. Iris took the brunt of the attack. She skidded against the ground, several loose rocks digging into her side as she did, and she keeled over several feet away from where N was thrown. Her vision went hazy from the shock—but when her eyes refocused themselves, she could see Ghetsis was standing before them with a Croagunk at his side.

"Father!" N cried out with a tremor of fear in his voice as he pushed himself off the ground.

"Don't you speak," Ghetsis icily snapped. "I specifically told you not to bring her here, and yet you deliberately did so." N withered under his red glare. Iris clutched the side of her gut and gritted her teeth, willing herself to stand.

"With good reason," she said, staggering to her feet. "The way you've been treating Zekrom is vile." Her point restored some of N's conviction.

"S-She's right," he said, also managing to stand. "The condition in which he was kept is deplorable." His voice suddenly grew shrill. "It is against everything we—"

"—It is a side effect of the incompetence of some of our members," Ghetsis calmly interjected. "They will be appropriately punished for their mistreatment of him."

"He's lying," Iris hissed. "He knew what was happening here." Ghetsis looked directly at her then.

"This doesn't concern you," he coldly said.

"It _does_ concern me because I'm his friend," Iris snarled. N snapped his head toward her in surprise. "You've been manipulating him for his entire life."

Ghetsis scoffed.

"A _friend_?" he mockingly repeated. " _You_? Who are _you_ to lecture me on manipulation and say you're his friend? You've used him just as well. You used him to get here."

"That's not true," Iris angrily denied.

"It isn't?" Ghetsis raised an eyebrow. "What kind of friend sneaks around another's back in the middle of the night, _stealing_ Pokéballs so she can capture her favorites out in the field when she thinks no one's looking?" Iris felt her blood run cold. "You think I didn't know?" He tutted, shaking his head. N turned his wide, horrified gaze toward Iris.

The look in his eyes alone caused her heart to drop into her stomach.

"I-It's not like that," she stuttered out. "They were my friend's Pokémon. They were—"

"What kind of friend would take a Pokémon for her own personal gain?" Ghetsis pressed on. "Especially one as special as Zekrom."

Iris tightened her grasp on Zekrom's Pokéball, warm in her hand, as she sputtered, "N, don't forget the legend! Don't forget the Aboriginal Dragon—" She and Ghetsis were suddenly speaking at once, and N, overwhelmed, began to draw into himself. His breathing grew heavy, and his eyes flew wildly between his father and his friend. Iris began to panic at his growing indecision.

"No one else has to get hurt. No one—" Iris plowed on, her voice rising as she slipped on her own words.

"—A _friend_ would never—" Ghetsis retained every ounce of his composure as he stared his son down. N clutched his head, shaking, tears burning under his legs were quivering, and they looked as though they might give out at any moment.

"You and I, we want the war to end!" Iris near-screeched in a final, desperate plea.

"And what kind of _friend_ ," Ghetsis now maliciously spat the word, "invites the Truth Seekers onto our doorstep?"

At that, N broke his silence. His head slowly turned toward Iris, peering at her with dark, tear-filled eyes.

"You did what?" he asked in a small voice.

"No," Iris said, vigorously shaking her head. "No, no—it wasn't me!"

"Oh please," Ghetsis snorted. "Can you really believe that N?"

N said nothing. He shook even harder with his indecision, melting under the pressure, unsure of which way to go or whom to trust. "I… I…." He could manage nothing, and Ghetsis scoffed again.

"Well, regardless—" He then addressed Iris, saying, "I suspected you'd try to trick N into bringing you down here, but I never suspected he'd be _stupid_ enough to fall for it." N's eyes were so utterly destitute of emotion by then that it was uncertain whether he had even heard his father's insult. Ghetsis began to stalk menacingly toward Iris, who stumbled back in response. "I also didn't count on you calling your Truth Seekers here to save you. As a result, our time here has run short." He stopped, flicked his gaze back toward his son, and, ignoring his emotionally ravaged state, said, "N, we must go. But we are not leaving without Zekrom."

He lifted his hand toward Iris. "Croagunk, use—" Ghetsis choked on the command, his eyes going impossibly wide for a moment before he fell forward and hit the ground stiff as a rock. Croagunk was caught mid-cry when the same happened to him. N gasped aloud and blanched at what stood beyond them: Hilda with her Galvantula, whose sticky, paralyzing Electroweb had attached to the backs of Ghetsis and Croagunk.

"I knew you'd be here," Hilda panted, sounding both relieved and mildly irritated. Her voice echoed through the empty dungeon. "It's a good thing I got here when I did." Her gaze flicked to her left, where N stood motionless. They stared each other down, N shivering and opening his mouth as if to speak, but only a few strangled gasps followed. Hilda's hard gaze faltered, and for a moment, even she appeared vulnerable. She quickly tore her eyes away from the pitiful sight to call back Galvantula. She then strode forward to grab Iris's wrist.

"Come on," she urged. "Ghetsis has only been stunned. He'll be up again soon."

Iris allowed herself to be pulled along for a moment, if only because she was too shocked to do anything else. When she remembered herself, she managed to choke out a quiet, "Wait." Hilda didn't stop, and Iris's eyes drifted from the hand on her wrist to the black earth beneath her stumbling feet. Her arm was tugged tighter as they moved past Ghetsis's motionless form on the ground.

"Wait," Iris said louder, loud enough for Hilda to hear, but Hilda still didn't stop pulling. Iris staggered, her free hand instinctively clutching the object in her hand as she was dragged harder. Feeling Zekrom's warmth from within, she remembered her conviction. " _Wait_!"

Iris finally wrested her wrist away and spun on her heel, back toward N.

"Come with us!" she cried. Her every word was full of a desperation that frantically reached out toward the empty shell across the room, trying, _trying_ to bring the person that once filled it back to her. "Nothing's changed. We can still end the war, just like we planned!"

Her final petition fell on deaf ears. N said nothing, and he did nothing. He only stared.

Hilda closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

"Don't bother, Iris," she said flatly. "There's no saving him. I already tried, a long time ago." She grabbed onto Iris's wrist again and pulled her up the stairs. Iris saw N disappear as she passed through the doorway, still standing, still watching. Her heart ached, and she tried to slide her wrist through Hilda's grasp a second time, just so she could run back and plead with N more, plead with him harder. She nearly succeeded, too, but Hilda grabbed onto her again with a new vice-like grip, and suddenly, Iris knew there was truly _nothing_ she could do.

The hard realization jolted her back to the current reality.

"Where are we going? What are we doing?" Iris asked. Realizing Iris had returned to her senses, Hilda let go of her wrist as they started running back up the tunnel. She looked at Iris over her shoulder and managed a crooked smile.

"Back to your friends," she said. "You were the reason we came."

In the forest, Iris could see the magnificent platinum glow of Reshiram hovering above the Unova Pokémon League. Her breath caught as she stared at the sky's new luminessence while Hilda got out her Braviary. She jumped onto his back and pulled Iris onto it too.

"We stormed the League looking for you," Hilda elaborated as they took off into the night. "When nobody could find you, almost everyone was sure the whole mission was for nothing. But N wasn't there either, and that's when I thought he might have tried taking you to his castle. I'm glad I was right."

Up in the sky, Iris was granted a view of the entire scene. Reshiram had curled around the left green spire of the Unova League, his tail bursting in a glorious flame that made the day seem like night. Many other Flying-types were orbiting around him, and Hilda pushed Braviary to dive toward them.

"I've got her!" Hilda yelled when she got close. Iris could not make out any of the faces of the Pokémon's riders, but she heard their distant cheers as they pulled up to make their journey back. However, one rider on a Skarmory soared close to them, and Iris quickly recognized her as Georgia.

"Good to see you in one piece," Georgia said in a taunting voice, though she was grinning. Iris suddenly, unexpectedly, felt herself choke up.

This was real. This was happening. It was over.

"Good to be in one piece," Iris said, wiping her eyes before any tears could fall. She still would have rather died than cry in front of Georgia. The Dragon Buster smirked and flew ahead. Behind her, Iris could see Reshiram immaterialize in a red light and disappear off the rooftop into what was presumably his Pokéball.

Iris felt her heart swell. He had done it. Cilan had done it.

In 20 minutes, they landed on a cliffside overlooking the nighttime gleam of Opelucid City. When Iris and Hilda landed, and Iris dismounted, she was immediately greeted by the affections of her rescuers, still reveling in their success.

"Iris, it's so good to see you again!"

"Arceus, you must be a real tough one to have survived being with Team Plasma for that long."

"We're so glad you're safe!"

"Welcome back."

Iris was immediately overwhelmed by the flurry of attention from people like Elesa, Marlon, Skyla, and Lenora, and she didn't even have the chance to thank them before she was tackled with a giant hug.

"Oh Iris!" Bianca sobbed, kissing her on the cheek. "I never thought I'd see you again!" She was then mobbed by other friendly faces: Stephan, Luke, Georgia, Trip, Burgundy, Cress, Chili, Cameron… all expressing their gratitude through tears, or at least a concentrated effort to hold back any tears. It became too much, and Iris broke down. She grasped Stephan's shoulder with one hand to steady herself and pressed her other hand to her face.

"I-I'm sorry I made you all worry," Iris sniffled; she couldn't help it no matter how much she wanted not to. "Thank you for coming for me."

"Don't thank us," Trip said with a rare smile. "Thank Cilan. Without him and Reshiram, we could have never made this happen."

Iris's breath temporarily stopped at the realization she hadn't even _seen_ Cilan yet. Her companions read the meaning of her expression well. Burgundy elbowed for Luke to step out of the way. He did so with a sheepish expression, and beyond him, just a few feet away, stood Cilan, waiting.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Cilan smiled weakly and opened his mouth to speak—only for it to be suddenly covered by hers. She had just short of thrown herself at him with reckless abandon, wrapping her arms around his neck. Cilan initially staggered back at the force of her kiss before he leaned into it, too, cupping her face.

"Whoa— _Whoa_ , hey!" Cameron yelled, _literally_ jumping in surprise. "Okay! That's happening!"

Cilan and Iris broke apart, obviously flustered, though they remained in each other's arms.

"Hey, Cameron," Georgia sniped at him. " _Shut up_."

Iris cracked a smile then, and Cilan let out a light laugh before he grasped her face again and kissed her forehead. No words needed to be exchanged between them, and there was no need to be embarrassed. They were together again, and they were safe.

"Well..." Iris suddenly tensed up, recognizing the voice. She unraveled from Cilan, standing apart from him, though she held onto his hand. It was Benga. He strode up to the pair, wearing his grandfather's famous grin. He addressed Iris when he continued, "There's nothing I can say other than it's good to have you back."

Iris didn't reply. Her wary eyes only examined his face, her lips pressed hard together. Benga raised an eyebrow and was about to ask if something was wrong before she suddenly burst out with, "I'm sorry that I don't have anything for the Truth Seekers."

The confusion at this statement was palpable in the air around them.

"What do you mean?" Cilan asked. Iris glanced worriedly at him before directing her gaze back toward Benga.

"I mean, they don't have Zekrom," Iris clarified. "Team Plasma doesn't have Zekrom." This revelation was followed by a chorus of gasps and murmurs from among her crowd of rescuers.

"But our intel told us they did," Elesa said in disbelief. "How could that be?" Hilda folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Iris suspiciously.

"Team Plasma must've put a rumor out to scare us, or maybe they just lost him," Iris explained. She closed her eyes and sighed before adding, "I'm sorry."

Benga seemed equally shocked by the news. He pressed a hand to his temple in thought, his eyes traveling to meet Hilda's. She frowned and made a tiny shrug in response. Benga dropped his hand again.

"You don't have to apologize," he told Iris. "This is a good thing. If they don't have Zekrom, it means we've got the upperhand. We have Reshiram, and we can control him." He flicked his gaze toward Cilan, who straightened up in response.

Burgundy also frowned and looked toward Iris, catching her eyes

"But does that mean you went through all of that for _nothing_?" she asked in a small, incredulous voice. Iris suddenly sucked in her breath

"Not for the nothing." She dropped Cilan's hand and went over to Burgundy, digging through Shauntal's bookbag as she did. Iris soon pulled out a set of four Pokéballs, and Burgundy gasped.

"A-Are those—?" Burgundy sputtered.

"I had to re-catch them," Iris admitted, pressing the Pokéballs into the connoisseuse's hands. "But they're yours."

Burgundy instantly dissolved into tears. She threw her arms around Iris and sobbed into her shoulder, repeating over and over again that she would _never_ be able to thank her enough.


	11. What Lives

**Chapter XI: What Lives**

 _I'm not one who believes in legends. They make for good stories, sure. I've already written about how I could retell the legend of the Tao Trio frontward, backward, and sideways. But I didn't believe there was a lot of truth to legends. Even now, I still have my doubts. (After everything that happened, I can't deny the truth behind Unova's most famous story. But the skeptic in me will never be so easily swayed)._

 _So I'm not sure why I didn't question it when Iris told us her plan. In fact, I was almost immediately ready to do everything I could to help her and Cilan see it through._ _That's the kind of effect Iris had, though. She can believe in the craziest things, but she believes in them so earnestly that even the most stringent cynic would be pulled in. Not only that, but she is strong, and she is determined. Her heart inspires loyalty. It's why Burgundy became such a devoted friend and support. For Iris to sacrifice so much to get her Pokemon back, it earned Burgundy's respect. It earned mine._

 _Simply put: Iris was, and is, a leader you want to follow. And we would follow her to the end._

* * *

Cilan, for the first time in weeks, felt like he could breathe again. Up until then, he'd been walking around with the weight of a thousand questions on his chest. _Is she still alive? What if she was wrong about me? What do we do about Reshiram? How do I explain this to her Pokémon? How do I explain this to our friends?_ Now that she was with him again, in the same room as him again, those questions, and the fears carried with them, had vanished.

They were staying in the Opelucid Pokémon Center for the night. Once the adrenaline of victory had worn off, exhaustion quickly set in. It was collectively decided that it would be more dangerous to complete the trip back to Liberty Garden that night, when they were tired and less alert, than to wait until the morning. The rescue team was just small enough, and the Pokémon Center just empty enough, for everyone to have a bed.

Still, while the temptation of his pillow was strong, Cilan wanted to stay awake long enough to witness this:

"I'm so sorry for worrying all of you," Iris said with a slight sniffle, addressing her five Pokémon in a huddle held as far as her arms could stretch. Their collective cries of relief were filled with an immediate forgiveness, and Iris bowed her head and shook a little. Even from behind, Cilan could tell she was crying again.

He had situated himself on a chair a comfortable distance away, his chin leaning into his hand as he watched the scene unfold. His eyes felt heavy with sleep, and he was certain that if he were to look in a mirror, he'd see a pair of dark circles beneath his lashes. Still, he smiled. He did not see Iris cry often—he didn't even think he'd seen her shed a tear at Drayden's memorial—but until now, it had always wrenched his heart when she did. Now, her tears were shed out of joy and not pain. Her happiness was reassuring. It told him that, despite everything, Iris truly was okay, that their ordeal was over, that—

Iris pulled her head back. For a split second, he saw a blank, empty look fill her eyes, until her Fraxure nuzzled her cheek. She smiled again and let out a light laugh. Cilan straightened up in alarm.

—something was wrong.

She was thinner. (Although, to be fair, so was he). She had been keeping them covered, but Cilan could also see there were scars—of puncture wounds?—on the inside of her wrist. But most of all, _most of all_ , there was some piece of her, some piece of the unbounded vitality that ruled her every emotion, that was missing.

Yes, many of the questions that Cilan had in her absence had evaporated upon her return. But a new one now weighed heavier on him, heavier than the thousand others combined:

 _What did they do to her?_

Iris stood and returned her Pokémon. She then turned toward Cilan, who stood up in response.

"Thank you for watching over them," she said.

"Of course," Cilan graciously replied. "I'm just glad you're okay. You were sorely missed by them. They wondered where you were and if you were all right just as much as us." Something he said, Cilan realized, deeply struck Iris. Her pupils narrowed, and her breath audibly caught. Cilan immediately perked up in alarm.

"What's the matter?" he worriedly asked.

"I need to go to the gym," Iris quickly answered.

"The—?" It took Cilan a moment to realize she meant the Opelucid Gym. "Right now? At this hour? It's almost 3 a.m."

"I know." Iris nodded. She then more forcefully pressed, "I _need_ to go." As she spoke, her hand tightly grasped the strap of the bookbag slung across her chest. Cilan was both taken aback and troubled by her insistence. Still, he sighed.

"Okay," he agreed. "Do you mind if I accompany you?"

Iris had already turned around and was halfway out the door at "okay," but she threw a glance over her shoulder and said, "Yeah—I mean, no. I don't mind. I want you to come." Cilan straightened up at that and hurried to follow her.

The walk to the gym was typically a 20-minute stroll, perhaps a little longer. But at the pace Iris was going, the travel time was almost cut in half. Along the way, Cilan kept meaning to ask what had her in such a rush, but each time he opened his mouth, he deterred himself. She looked to be on the edge of panic, and he figured all would be explained once they arrived.

Once the gym was in sight, Iris practically broke into a sprint, which caught Cilan off guard. He jogged to keep up, but couldn't hope to run as fast with how tired he felt. When Iris reached the doors, however, instead of pushing them open, she slowed and knelt before them. Cilan couldn't see what had stopped her through the dim street lighting until he got close: In her hands were the padlock and chain she had used to secure the entrance, snapped into pieces.

Someone had broken in. It should have been no big surprise. She had been gone for months by then. Still, Iris was unusually solemn.

"Iris…" Cilan started, but he never finished the thought. She rose to her feet and pressed against the heavy doors, opening them. It was dark inside, but she immediately knew where the light switch was, and she flipped it on. The lamps above flickered to life, casting a yellow, otherworldly haze across the battlefield.

Cilan watched her take a few steps forward. Her feet dragged a little, sending a few drafts of the field's red dust into the air near her ankles.

"I left Dragonite here." Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the gym. Cilan's chest rose. Of course. That was why she was in such a hurry. "I wanted him to watch over the gym while I was gone. I told him to wait at least 30 days for me. If I didn't come back for him, it meant I wasn't going to." Cilan quietly strode to her side. He watched as she tightly closed her eyes and pressed back the tears that were forming with her fingers. "I only thought I would go to Dragonspiral Tower. I didn't know I'd get mixed up in all of this."

Cilan's heart ached for her. His hand reached for her shoulder.

"You had reasons for being away as long as you were," he reassured her.

Iris dropped her hands again.

"He probably thinks I'm dead," she declared in a flat voice.

Cilan had nothing he could say to that. No words of comfort, at least. If he pointed out that, well, maybe that wasn't true—then what would that mean for Dragonite? That he believed his trainer abandoned him? For Iris, that was a fate worse than death.

"Let's go back," he quietly suggested. "It's been a hard night. Things will seem better in the morning, and it's a long trip back to Liberty Garden." He suddenly felt her go rigid under his hand, and she slid out from under him.

"Back to Liberty Garden?" she repeated questioningly.

"Of… Of course," Cilan said, though he sounded unsure. "Where else would we go?"

Iris's hand tightened around the strap of her bookbag again.

"I want to show you something," she said. Her eyes were suddenly dry, and her voice was firm. She abruptly turned. "Come upstairs with me." It was a command, not a request, and Cilan, though surprised, obliged.

The place had definitely been ransacked by thieves. The walls in just about every room were cut into to remove copper wiring. In the kitchen, all the drawers had been pulled out onto the floor, and the silverware was missing. Various other items were noticeably missing, too, but Iris didn't seem to care—in fact, she appeared relieved upon walking into the living room.

"Oh good," she breathed. "It's still here!" Cilan initially wasn't sure to what she was referring, until she jogged over to the television and knelt in front of it. That struck him as odd. Iris didn't really watch TV, and for that matter, he didn't think Drayden did much either. It probably collected dust for most of the year, unless there was a contest or tournament airing that either wanted to watch.

Iris suddenly let out an incredulous cry. Cilan jumped out of his thoughts and back into reality.

"What's the matter?" he quickly asked.

"The VCR's gone!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Cilan gave her an odd look.

"The VCR's gone!" she repeated, standing "Who steals a VCR and not a TV? Who even steals a VCR?"

Cilan was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep back at the Pokémon Center and if this was all apart of some strange fever dream. He looked directly at her.

"Iris," he began plainly. He didn't know how it make it sound anything other than obvious. "We can get you another VCR."

"That's not the—" Iris pressed her face into both hands and groaned loudly, bending her back down. Her dramatics might have been more amusing if it wasn't in the middle of the night and they weren't so utterly strange. Before Cilan could say anything, however, Iris dropped her hands once again and, in a very quiet, defeated voice, said, "... I just want to go to back."

Cilan agreed that might be the best for the both of them. On the way back, he asked what she meant to show him. Iris only rubbed at her eyes and tiredly replied, "I'll… tell you about it tomorrow."

He accepted that was the best he was getting from her tonight. The rest of the walk was silent, and it took much longer than their first trip. It was approaching 4 a.m. by the time they made it to their rooms, which were across the hall from each other.

They stood awkwardly between their doors for a moment.

"Well… good night," Cilan began. Iris latched her gaze onto his.

"I want to talk to you first thing in the morning," she said. Her voice was suddenly back to being firm. It unsettled him.

"Okay," Cilan agreed. He turned to head into his bedroom, but Iris grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

"I mean it," she implored. "The _first_ thing." The gravity in her voice arrested him, and he turned to face her fully once again. In her eyes, he could now discern a look of desperation, perhaps even fear. He didn't understand why, but he at least understood this was important to her.

"Okay," Cilan said again, sounding more resolved. He hesitated, then leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. When she opened her eyes again, she looked far more at ease, and she loosened her grip on his hand. He smiled at her, and she did the same. He had her trust.

His roommates, his brothers and Trip, were already fast asleep. Which was a good thing. Cilan didn't want probing questions about where he and Iris had been for the past hour.

He collapsed onto the open bed and closed his eyes, prepared for what he imagined would be the best sleep of his life.

* * *

Iris, unlike Cilan, wasn't even sure if she could sleep. She wanted to, and she was certainly tired enough. Yet, just the thought of being off guard, even if for only a few hours, was enough to shake her exhaustion into bitter wakefulness. She couldn't sleep, not with Zekrom near her hip, not when surrounded by dozens of Truth Seekers still loyal to the cause. She was deeply grateful for their rescue, and guilt would prick her conscious when she considered how brazenly she had lied to all of them, but she had to remain firm in her resolve. Even if N was no longer with her, she had to move forward with her plan.

She determined she would force herself to stay up, long enough for Cilan to sleep for at least a few hours. When it was morning, she would show him the tape. There had to be a VCR somewhere in the Pokémon Center, outdated as they were. Maybe, Iris thought, she could spend her hours awake scouting one out. Then she could plan for how she'd manage to get him alone for a couple minutes to show him… If he saw it, Iris was certain he'd follow her lead, and somehow, they'd slip away together in the early morning hours.

Iris hated coffee and never drank it, but she figured she needed to get some caffeine in her system if she was going to pull an all-nighter looking for a stupid hunk of technology that was older than she was. So she went down to the communal kitchen, hoping there might be cup's worth of coffee on drip at the machine. If not, well, then she supposed she'd have to teach herself, or maybe she'd just eat a bag of raw grounds and hope that had the same effect.

She was lucky. A pot, though very near empty, had already been prepared. Iris headed to the machine, hoisted up the pot by the handle and poured what was left into one of the complimentary styrofoam cups. She then steeled herself and forced herself to drink the lukewarm, bitter liquid in one go. Her face scrunched in response. It was grainy.

"Can't sleep either?"

Every muscle in Iris's body tensed. She wetted her lips and set her now-emptied cup down.

"Yeah," she stiffly replied. She didn't turn as she spoke, but over her shoulder, she watched Benga stroll into the kitchen and make himself comfortable at a small dining table.

"I feel you there," he said with a wry smile. "I _also_ drink coffee when I'm trying to sleep."

Iris didn't move, nor did she speak. Her gaze, however, remained firmly locked onto him.

"Sorry, I'm just joking with you," Benga added with a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "Not trying to give you a hard time."

She finally turned to face him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a low, almost warning tone.

"You make it sound like I planned this with sinister intentions," Benga said, now sounding a little exasperated. Iris's expression didn't break.

"Did you?" she asked. Benga stared, then let out a short, disbelieving chuckle.

"Boy, you never miss a beat," he said, rubbing his temple. When his hand dropped again, he added, "Y'know, you've always been standoffish toward me. But I've never felt this level of animosity coming from you. It makes me wonder: Did you even _want_ to be rescued?"

Iris's chest tightened a little.

"I…" She closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. "I probably wouldn't be alive without all of you coming for me. I am grateful for that. But I wish it would've been different." Her eyes opened again. "I'm not a Team Plasma convert, if that's what you're suggesting."

Benga watched her, slowly nodding as he soaked in her words. Then, he sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

Iris furrowed her eyebrows.

"What are you apologizing for?" she asked.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Benga elaborated. Iris remained visibly wary, so he continued, "I genuinely like you, Iris. I know I can't convince you of that for whatever reason, but it's the honest truth. If I didn't like you at all, I ultimately wouldn't have approved a rescue mission."

"I think you saving me has less to do with liking me and more to do with you needing me to command Reshiram," Iris bitterly replied. Benga clicked his tongue, apparently having had enough.

"Well, that can't be the case," he said plainly. "Because with Cilan, we can do just fine without you." Iris almost forgot to breathe. Benga rested his chin on his hand and sounded utterly casual when he continued, "I'm not going to ask why you decided to hide that you didn't capture Reshiram from me. I can make some pretty good guesses."

Iris didn't know what his strategy was. She didn't know what he wanted her to say, how he wanted her to respond. Her first instinct was to demand how he knew, but she quickly realized the answer was obvious: If Reshiram had deferred to Cilan as quickly as Zekrom had deferred to her, then the truth of the matter would have become plain to see.

Iris shook, not quite with anger, and not quite with fear, but with a sudden, burning desire to make him feel just as exposed as she did in that moment. She wanted them to stand on equal ground again, and that was when she burst out with, "Well, _I'm_ going to ask you why you were out wrecking towers and making it look like Team Plasma did it."

It worked. Her words visibly peeled away Benga's cool demeanor, leaving him wide-eyed and without his new defenses. He tightly closed his eyes and sighed.

"Look…" he started.

"So it _is_ true!" Iris's voice rose slightly. The crack in her volume when she reached a new pitch surprised her, because it meant that maybe, just _maybe_ , there was a small part of her that hoped the video was fake.

"Team Plasma's recruitment efforts were becoming more aggressive, and we had to respond in kind," Benga explained, trying to sound as calm as possible. "They were breaking into television broadcasts to speak directly to people and try to bring them to their side. We tried to cut off the head by destroying communication towers. Painting Team Plasma's insignia onto them was a stupid idea to try to turn people to us instead."

"By making them afraid," Iris growled. She stopped long enough to suck in her breath and reorganize her thoughts. "Answer me honestly. Cilan told me a while ago that the Truth Seekers were having trouble with recruitment in Striaton City until his and his brothers' gym burned down. Was that the work of the Truth Seekers?"

Benga looked directly into her eyes.

"No," he firmly answered.

Iris pressed her lips hard together to keep them from quivering.

"You know, Benga," she said, sounding more tired than she had all day. "I want to believe you. But I just don't know if I can." She started to turn away, but Benga, suddenly angered, jumped to his feet.

"I don't have to defend myself to you," he spat. "You're no better than me. You've lied, too."

Iris clenched her fists and spun back on her heel, opening her mouth to retort. Yet, her words withered away under his fiery red gaze.

"You act like you're on some moral high ground for hating the Truth Seekers, and quite frankly, I'm getting really sick of it," Benga heatedly went on. "I mean, I understand it to an extent. Look at my eyes. You don't think I also hate what the old Truth Seekers did to our ancestors? But I didn't let myself get hung up on the past. I revived the Truth Seekers and turned it into something _good_. You're not willing to let go, though. You're not willing to admit we're different."

"You're wrong," Iris fought back, finding her voice again. "The Truth Seekers aren't different. You're right that I can't blame the new Truth Seekers for what happened to the Draconid. But the Truth Seekers still use Pokémon to fight their wars. The only thing that's changed is the enemy."

She turned away again.

"Are you sure you don't sympathize with Team Plasma now?" Benga growled. "Because you sure sound like it."

"I don't," Iris bluntly replied, still on her way out the door. "I just don't sympathize with you either."

"I've been honest with you tonight," Benga said, equally forthcoming. "Can you say the same?"

Iris froze, just for a moment.

"Good night, Benga," she said stiffly. A short beat of silence followed before she threw a glance over her shoulder and added, "I'll see you in the morning."

He simmered down and nodded to her. Iris jerked her head forward and kept going, hoping the argument had been sufficiently defused, at least for the evening. A few more steps forward, however, and she checked to see whether Benga was following before breaking into a run. She couldn't wait any longer.

She threw open the door to Cilan's room, breathing hard as she stumbled through the darkness. She fell to his bedside and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him awake.

"Cilan! _Cilan!_ " she called to him in a desperate whisper.

"Iris?" His voice was still heavy with sleep, but he grew more alert as her hands slid down his shoulders. "Iris, what's the matter?"

"Cilan, we have to go," Iris pleaded. "We have to go _now_."

"Iris, slow down," Cilan said, sitting all the way up. "Tell me what happened."

"I can explain everything later, but _please_ ," Iris pressed. "We _have_ to go."

"Wha—"

" _Please!_ " Iris now firmly grasped both of his hands. "Please, you have to trust me."

His eyes searched hers for a moment. Then, he swallowed.

"Okay," he agreed. He threw the sheets off him and started to slip his shoes back onto his feet, but Iris was impatient, and she pulled him into the hall with them only halfway on. He had to finish the job while stumbling his way downstairs.

At the entrance to the lobby, Iris hurried to hide behind a corner, pulling Cilan with her. She then peered into the room and, making sure it was clear, bolted ahead with Cilan in tow. It wasn't until they were outside that Cilan managed to get in an actual question: "Where are we going?"

"To Mount Taima," Iris answered without pause.

They came to sudden, gritty halt. Cilan dug his heels into the ground, sliding forward only a few inches before coming to a complete stop. Iris jerked back a few inches. As forceful as she was, Cilan still had his greater height and weight on her. She looked wildly back at him.

"What?! Wait." Cilan pulled his hand from hers. "To _Mount Taima_?" It was as if he hadn't heard her right.

"Yes," Iris confirmed, nodding.

"Hold on," Cilan said, pushing his hands out in front of him for emphasis. "Why are we leaving for Mount Taima in the _middle of the night_? That's a three- to four-day trip. Number one, we don't have any provisions as is—"

"—We'll stop somewhere and pick some up, but we've got to get away _now_ ," Iris pressed, reaching for one of his hands again. He stepped away, and she was left grasping at air.

"You didn't let me finish," Cilan firmly said. "Number two, I'm not going to vanish into the night without telling anyone, least of all our friends and my brothers. We're supposed to go back to Liberty Garden in several hours."

"We _can't_ go back," Iris emphasized. "We have to go, or we'll never get away again, and Zekrom—"

"Zekrom?" Cilan cut in questioningly.

"I meant Reshiram," Iris hastily amended, realizing her error. Cilan was unconvinced. He breathed out slowly, then pressed his lips together. She saw his eyes harden a little.

"You have Zekrom," he said with bitter realization. Iris's chest tightened.

"... Yes," she confessed, and Cilan pressed a hand over his eyes, groaning.

"So you lied," he said. The ire in his voice was palatable. Before Iris could attempt to explain herself, another voice cut in.

"To all of us." It was Georgia, accompanied by Trip and Burgundy. She sounded just as resentful, if not more, as Cilan. Iris felt her resolution wilting under the sting of guilt.

"How'd you find us?" Cilan asked. He didn't sound too thrilled to see them either, perhaps desiring to resolve his grief with Iris alone.

"Iris made a bit of a racket on her way into our room," Trip explained. "You're lucky your brothers are heavy sleepers. I woke Georgia and Burgundy up myself." His gaze flicked back toward Iris, who straightened up. "So if you caught Zekrom, then all that talk about how Team Plasma 'lost' him… ?"

"I made it up," Iris admitted. "I can explain, though."

"Right, yeah, let's hear your excuse," Georgia said flippantly. Iris flexed her hands, sweaty from the spike in her anxiety at being discovered, and ground her teeth a little in frustration.

"It's not any of you," she went on. "It's Benga. I meant to tell you later."

"What were you waiting for then?" Trip asked.

"I just—wasn't—" Iris started, stammering through her words.

"You could've easily gotten us alone after—"

"—Just let her talk!" Burgundy suddenly burst out. A tense silence followed. Iris stared in surprise at the connoisseuse, who inhaled deeply before addressing Iris directly. "What about Benga?"

Iris regathered herself, taking in a cleansing breath. She was quiet for a moment as she considered how best to say this.

"I can't trust Benga to make the best choice for Reshiram or Zekrom," she eventually began. "I'm worried he'd take them and use them to destroy Team Plasma."

"And that's bad because… ?" Georgia sarcastically urged her on with a twirl of her hand.

"Because there's a better way," Iris said. Her voice had found its authority again. "Maybe getting rid of Team Plasma will end the fighting for now, but what about in the future? What about in another 20, or 50, or 100 years when another war breaks out? The different sides will go on a mad hunt for Reshiram and Zekrom as the ultimate trump cards again. It isn't right. It isn't fair, to either of them. I want to put an end to the cycle, for good, so no one can wrongfully use them ever again."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Trip asked doubtfully.

"There's another Legendary Pokémon called Kyurem that lives on Mount Taima," Iris explained. "He was what was left behind after Reshiram and Zekrom split apart in the first war. If we can bring all three together again, maybe they will reunite into the Aboriginal Dragon. That will end Zekrom and Reshiram's need to fight each other, and by extension, end their suffering." Iris pressed her hand against Shauntal's bookbag, feeling the heat of Zekrom's Pokéball from within. "You should've seen the condition Zekrom was in when I found him…"

The expressions of her companions showed they were thoughtfully considering what she said. It heartened Iris enough to finish her indictment. "I know Benga wants to end the war, too," she said. "But he's willing to do things I can't condone. I think they're things you wouldn't condone either, and I can show you."

"... Show us?" Cilan repeated. Iris opened up Shauntal's bookbag and pulled out the tape. Confusion crossed his face, as well as the faces of Burgundy, Georgia, and Trip.

"This is footage from a security camera in Black City," Iris explained. "It shows Benga knocking down a communication tower and then painting it to make it look like Team Plasma did it. This is only one incident, but… I don't know if there are others. I don't know how much of what's happened in Unova is the Truth Seekers' fault, and how much of it is Team Plasma's." She slid the tape back into her bag. "That's why I can't fully trust him, or his intentions."

Silence followed as her words sank into their skin. Iris waited with bated breath for their reaction, her fists balling up. Suddenly, she felt the cool brush of Cilan's fingers against her hand, and the anxiety that had coiled up in her stomach began to unravel.

"Why didn't you just tell us this from the beginning?" he quietly asked.

"Yeah," Georgia agreed. "We would've understood."

"It also would've saved us some grief in the long run," Trip added.

Iris was dumbfounded.

"I… I was worried…" she began.

"That we wouldn't believe you?" Burgundy finished for her.

"We fought really hard to get you back to us," Georgia went on. "Of course we'd listen to what you have to say. Tape or no tape."

"We care about you," Cilan concluded. He pressed his thumb against her knuckles, coaxing her to open her fist so he could properly hold her hand. "Just be open with us."

Iris stared at her friends in bewilderment. Then, she smiled crookedly, let out a strangled laugh, and ducked her head down low. Cilan perked up in alarm, feeling her shiver.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I-It's nothing." Iris looked up again, smiling wider. "I just didn't realize I had such good friends."

Cilan then smiled too, as did her three other companions. The lightness of the moment soon passed, however, as Trip's expression grew more serious again.

"Well, if we want to make this work, then we'd better hurry," he said. "The sun rises in less than two hours. We have to put some distance between us and Benga before daylight, when everyone wakes up, discovers us missing, and inevitably goes looking for us. Have you slept at all Iris?"

Iris's heart rose into her throat. They didn't just believe her. They would follow her, and they would do this together.

"No." Iris shook her head. "But I can manage for a while."

"Nearly all of our belongings are back at Liberty Garden. We'll have to stop somewhere anyway for food and other necessities," Cilan pointed out. "You can catch up on a little sleep then."

"We can stop at Village Bridge," Georgia said. "It's only an hour or two away on foot, if we make good time."

"That's perfect," Cilan said.

"Shouldn't we tell the others we're leaving?" Burgundy asked.

"No," Trip immediately answered. "I don't doubt they would believe Iris. But we'd be putting them in a bad situation if they stayed behind, knowing all this."

Iris frowned and cast a sideways glance at Cilan.

"Are you okay with that?" she asked him. He sucked in his breath.

"My brothers will ultimately understand," he said. "Bianca, Cameron, Stephan, and Luke will too."

"Then we're all agreed," Trip said. "So let's go."

* * *

Morning came, and Benga had managed a couple hours of sleep. Restless sleep, so what little refreshment might have been gained was lost to the time spent tossing in bed. He had been turning over the days' events in his mind; more specifically, he had been turning over his fight with Iris.

"I could've been wrong," Hilda mumbled, sitting across from him at a little table in his room. She was stirring some sugar into her morning coffee as she spoke. "Iris was with N and Team Plasma more recently, so she'd know better."

Benga sighed and stretched back in his chair. A few bones in his shoulders cracked, and Hilda winced. He knew she hated the sound, but he couldn't help it.

"You're probably right," he conceded. "Still, I get the sense she's hiding something from me."

"Hiding more than just the fact she didn't catch Reshiram?" Hilda craned an eyebrow.

"She was _very_ tense throughout our conversation," Benga said.

"I would be too if I suspected you of burning my boyfriend's gym to the ground," Hilda said wryly. When Benga glowered at her, she added, "Hey, it's not my fault you're an idiot who got caught using shady tactics on camera."

Benga groaned and rubbed his fingers tiredly over his eyelids.

"She just sounded so much like a Plasma," he recalled. "The things she was saying, it made me so _mad_. Team Plasma murdered my grandfather. I lost my temper."

"That's hard to believe," Hilda said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Your temper's hard to lose."

"It's personal," Benga said with a shrug. Hilda suddenly lowered her mug from her lips, her expression growing serious.

"That's a dangerous thing to say," she warned. "Once things get too personal, your judgement becomes clouded. You do a good job keeping a clear head with your laidback nature. Keep it that way."

Benga said nothing, but nodded slowly in agreement before averting his gaze. Hilda settled back down.

"Anyway, what does it matter?" she mumbled. "We're on the verge of winning this thing regardless of what Iris says."

"I wouldn't say that," Benga said. "You said it best: She's a hero to people. I think there's a lot she could say that others would listen to. And because she's got that tower thing on me, I can't say a word about how it was Cilan who captured Reshiram, not her."

"It sure makes her rescue a nice love story," Hilda mused. She became noticeably withdrawn then. She lowered her eyes and needlessly stirred her coffee. Benga watched her for a while before flicking her eyes away again.

"It's probably for the best if I stay in her good graces," he decided.

"Probably," Hilda agreed flatly .

"I'm going to apologize," Benga then declared.

"Good idea," Hilda said, her tone unchanging.

Upstairs, Benga gently knocked at the door to Iris's room. Bianca, a disheveled, sleepy mess, answered, but she perked up when she saw whom her visitor was.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Bianca," Benga greeted. He tried to peer over her shoulder. "Could I speak to Iris?"

"I actually haven't seen her all morning," Bianca admitted.

"Oh? Well, what about Georgia and Burgundy?" he asked. "Have they seen her?"

"I haven't seen them all morning either," Bianca said.

"Really?" Benga turned to see Cress and Chili exiting their bedroom behind him. Cress continued, "We haven't seen Cilan or Trip either. I was wondering if you or the other ladies had."

"No, I haven't." Bianca shook her head.

Benga did a double-take between her and the two brothers. Realization suddenly sank into him, and he breathed in sharply. He gritted his teeth, turned abruptly, and headed back down the stairs to find Hilda.

* * *

Daylight had broken by the time they made it to Village Bridge. Iris had fared well during the trip, but as soon as the glare of the sun hit her eyes and brought her past the 24-hour mark, her feet began to drag. Cilan noticed and gently recommended to the rest of the group that they stop at the first opportunity.

That opportunity ended up being in the shade near a bench outside a mini PokéMart at the mouth of the village bridge. As soon as she was seated, her exhaustion truly set in. Iris's eyes drooped closed as she leaned against Cilan's shoulder while he and the others pooled together what little change they had on them.

"₱2223," Georgia declared after counting out the meager few bills and coins they collectively had. "That's barely enough to afford a set of water bottles and a few snacks."

"Mount Taima's very cold. There's snow on the peaks, even in the summer," Trip mused. "We're going to need some coats."

"Village of Dragons," Iris mumbled, her eyes still closed. Her companions looked at her in surprise. They thought she had been asleep.

"What?" Cilan asked. Her voice was so weak they had barely heard her anyway.

"We can stop by the Village of Dragons," Iris elaborated, slightly louder. "We can get warm clothes and more food there."

Trip hummed and exchanged contemplative looks with the others.

"We could probably make it there by sunset if we don't stop moving," he said.

"We can't _reasonably_ keep going that long," Burgundy pointed out. "Iris hasn't slept at all, and the rest of us got only two or three hours at most. We'll have to stop."

"We can find somewhere secluded to nap, and a few of our Pokémon can stand guard," Cilan suggested. "We can still make it to the village tonight."

"Sounds like a plan." Trip gathered together their money and stood up. "I'm going in."

"Oh!" Burgundy reached out and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. Trip glanced back at her with a craned eyebrow. "Will you get Acuity Water instead of Mahogany? Mahogany always tastes fishy to me."

Trip didn't blink.

"I'll get whatever's cheapest," he dismissed before continuing on his way. Burgundy huffed and folded her arms once he disappeared behind the automatic sliding doors. Iris watched the scene unfold through a half-lidded gaze and chuckled a little before settling down. Her hand loosely intertwined with Cilan's as she dozed off.

The following hours dwindled away in a haze. They quickly set off again, but the journey was arduous—not just for Iris, but for everyone else, too, as their lack of sleep started to catch up to them. If she were more awake, Iris might have been more alarmed by their collective sluggishness. If Benga, or worse, Team Plasma found them, there would be no escape.

Just before they reached the point of total burnout, however, they found a small cavern where they could set up makeshift sleeping arrangements. They retreated a little ways inside, leaving Georgia's Bisharp at the entrance to watch for potential intruders.

"How long do we want to sleep for?" Georgia asked as they started to settle down. Her fingers hovered over her Xtransceiver, waiting. It was all very methodical; as a group, they had always been fairly practical travelers—there was little room for leisure with the dangers wartime posed—but their planning had reached a new level of efficiency.

"90 minutes is a full sleep cycle," Trip said. His hood was pulled down over the top half of his face. "Two cycles ought to be enough."

"Okay. I'll set the timer for the three hours."

"It takes the average human 15 minutes to fall asleep," Trip added.

"... Three hours and 15 minutes then," Georgia begrudgingly amended. She set the timer and rolled back on the ground, casting an arm over her eyes.

Iris, too, laid back and shut her eyes. Just closing her eyes offered much-needed relief. She lazily started to do some math in her head. It was just before noon, so if they slept for about three hours… they'd probably leave again a little after 3 p.m. The trip to the Village of Dragons would take another six or seven hours on foot, and sunset was around 8 p.m. this time of year… so they'd have to do an hour or two in the dark.

Iris shifted around, trying to get comfortable. It would be worth it if she could sleep in her own bed.

Suddenly, a giant floof of fur dropped on top of her entire head. Iris sputtered and pushed herself up. Burgundy's Stoutland had practically sat on her. Burgundy appeared a little sheepish and apologized before adding, "You'll hurt your neck if you sleep on the ground like that."

Burgundy then laid a few feet beside Iris, resting her head against her Pokémon's side. Iris soon realized what happened and managed a weak smile.

"Thanks," she said, also resting against Stoutland.

Cilan caught her eye from across the cavern. He smiled at her and then flipped on his side so he was turned away. Iris blinked a few times before eventually dozing off.

When they set off again, Iris felt better than she had in a long, long time. Not just physically, but mentally too. She was better rested and without serious ailment; she was in the beauty of wild Unova with friends, and not burning up with cabin fever among enemies. Their mission was clear, and they moved with purpose. She actually felt _confident_.

"So what did you do while I was away?" Iris asked, addressing Cilan as they walked briskly along the unmarked path. Iris had traveled to the Village of Dragons hundreds of times in dozens of different ways, and she knew how to best get there if the goal was to go unnoticed.

"What do you mean?" Cilan inquired, blinking.

"Well… like… how did you train Reshiram?" There were many other questions Iris wanted to ask— _How did Benga react when I was captured? What made him decide to approve my rescue?_ —but this was chief among them. "It was impressive, the way you handled him last night."

Last night. It was only last night that they had rescued her. It was only last night that she had last seen N. It was only last night that she had seen his world fall apart. Iris shook herself back into the present before she fall too far back into her regrets. Still, the memories lingered.

Cilan let out an abashed laugh. "Thank you," he said. "I don't understand it myself. When we were alone in the chamber, though… It came so naturally. Frankly, I don't know how to describe it."

That was rare: Him, unable to describe something, not even with a fussy metaphor. Iris tilted her head.

"You were alone?" she asked.

"Benga was there," Cilan corrected himself.

"Oh." Iris looked forward again. "I guess that's how he figured out you captured him, and not me."

"He figured that out?" Burgundy cast a surprised look over her shoulder, and Iris nodded.

"He confronted me about it last night, when everyone else was asleep," she said. The intrigue of her companions was visibly piqued, and Iris realized she never shared that she actually _did_ have a conversation with Benga before deciding to run. She wasn't sure if that made their loyalty to her more heartwarming or reckless. Iris didn't feel like getting into all the details, though, so she only added, "It turned into a pretty bad fight. I also told him I knew about the tape."

Georgia smirked.

"Boy, I would've _loved_ to have seen his face," she said.

"He was pretty surprised," Iris said, decidedly sharing in her amusement with a smile.

"He was going to figure out our ruse eventually," Trip added with a shrug. "It was pretty flimsy."

"I don't know if flimsy is the right word," Georgia added, suddenly looking sly. "Mushy, though? Sure."

"Mushy?" Iris repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Hilda and Cilan convinced Benga that Reshiram might listen to Cilan because he was in love with you," Trip bluntly clarified. "It worked well enough to get Reshiram back into Cilan's hands, but I guess the truth had to come out eventually."

Iris glanced at Cilan, whose face was burning a bright red shade she'd never seen him wear before. She smiled again but decided to give him an out.

"Hilda helped you?" she asked.

"Y-Yes," Cilan answered, regathering himself. "She was convinced you were alive, and she took that information to Benga for us."

Iris straightened up.

"Why was she convinced?" she asked.

"Something about how N would never let you die," Georgia explained. Iris's chest tightened. Georgia interpreted the change in her expression as a sign of confusion and added, "You know, N, the new Champ—"

"—I know who N is," Iris quietly clarified. Her sudden reticence was a little jarring. Cilan furrowed his eyebrows worriedly and decided to change the subject.

"So how did you capture Zekrom?" he asked. Iris shrugged.

"It's a long story," she said, her voice still low. "I guess you could say it came naturally to me, too." She then paused and, readjusting Shauntal's bookbag, added with greater conviction, "He's part of the reason I want to go to the Village of Dragons. He's safe now, but they had him chained up, trapped underground… He was pretty badly hurt, and he needs treatment. The people in the Village of Dragons are experts."

By then, Georgia, Trip, and Burgundy were all watching her speak from ahead. Cilan exchanged quick glances with each of them.

"Well, I suppose we'd better hurry then," Cilan said, looking at Iris again, "for Zekrom's sake."

Night fell. Trip's Chandelure became their guiding light. The group came closer together as they followed the ethereal purple glow through the dark forest. The sounds of the Unovan wild became more mysterious, and therefore more unsettling, at night when one couldn't see, and Iris could tell her companions were feeling a little on edge. A twig snapped under Burgundy's foot, and she jumped with a slight yelp.

"Don't worry," Iris assured her with a laugh. "I played in this forest all the time when I was a kid. Nothing will hurt you here."

Embarrassed, Burgundy stammered out, "R-Right." Meanwhile, the familiarity of the moment struck Iris, and she solemnly faced forward again.

"Does that mean we're close?" Georgia asked.

"Yeah..." Iris replied. "You'll probably be able to see it at the top of this cliff."

And they did: The village did not have the same dazzling luminescence as Opelucid had the previous evening, but there was a warm glow emanating the specks of windows in the distance. The scene unexpectedly filled Iris with a fond sense of homecoming, and it surprised her. The last time she had come, shortly after Drayden's death, she had only felt hollow.

They started off toward the bottom. Trip recalled his Chandeleure once the glow of burning lamps was enough to light their way, then asked, "So what do we do now that we're here?"

Iris tightly grasped the strap of Shauntal's bookbag.

"I tell the Elder what we've done," she said.

The Elder's home was at the village center, and all the windows were dark. Iris was undeterred, however. She pushed open the door and headed straight inside. Her companions uncomfortably waited beyond the door, unsure of what to do. After a moment, Iris returned to the doorway with furrowed, confused eyebrows and gestured for them to follow. They exchanged uncertain looks before doing so.

Iris groped around in the dark for a minute of two before finding a lantern. She turned it on and set it on the table.

"Elder?" Iris then called. She moved forward, pressing aside the curtain leading into the backroom. "Elder, are you awake?"

Her inquiries initially went unanswered. Then, a very faint "Iris?" emerged from the darkness ahead. Iris inhaled sharply, her hand dropping the curtain while taking a step back to let the Elder come through. She wasn't wearing her headscarf, and her long, gray hair hung loosely at her shoulders. "Iris, you're... alive?"

"Elder!" Iris exclaimed as they embraced. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come so late if it weren't important."

The Elder pulled back and held Iris's hand eagerly in her both of hers. "Do not mind that. Please, sit, and tell me everything." Her gaze moved beyond Iris, and she straightened up when she noticed they weren't alone. "You brought others."

"Yes." Iris let go of the Elder's hand and stood beside Cilan. "These are my friends. You know Cilan—" He bowed his head slightly. "—but this is Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip." She pointed to each as she said their name.

Trip took a slight step forward.

"It is an honor to meet you," he graciously said.

The Elder initially said nothing as her eyes carefully assessed each of them. Cilan suddenly remembered how, months earlier, he had been treated with similar suspicions by the villagers when staying with Iris. At the time, Iris had dismissed it as a general mistrust of outsiders in lieu of the Truth Seekers' return. He could only imagine it was worse now with the escalations in region-wide chaos.

But then the Elder said, "Friends of Iris are friends to all of us. You are welcome here." She kneeled before the table upon which Iris had placed the lantern, and invited the rest to do the same. "Thank you for watching after her."

Cilan nodded as he uneasily sat down. He wasn't sure whether there was something in their or Iris's demeanor that gave away they had saved her life, or if the Elder simply assumed Iris's life would have needed saving.

The Elder flicked her gaze back to Iris.

"Child, we have long presumed you were dead," the Elder said with a discernible ache in her voice. "What brings you here now, after all this time?"

Iris's fingers curled into the fabric of her leggings.

"Elder…" she started, sounding more nervous than one would expected. "I…" She suddenly changed course, reaching out and placing her hand over Cilan's. Her touch infected him with the same jolt of apprehension. "We… Cilan and I, we captured Reshiram and Zekrom."

The Elder breathed in sharply, though inaudibly.

"You… You what?" She was stunned.

"We have both Reshiram and Zekrom," Iris repeated, more assuredly. "We're taking them to the top of Mount Taima to find Kyurem and reunite the Aboriginal Dragon."

"How did you manage—" The Elder stopped to recollect herself. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She was a grounded woman, Iris knew, and she wouldn't be so easily carried away by the enormity of the achievement, no matter how fantastic. When the Elder opened her eyes again, she continued in an even tone, "This is a difficult task. Kyurem is unpredictable. Do not forget, you lost your parents' lives to him, and you nearly lost yours as well."

This was not a new revelation to Cilan, and as a result, he remained steadfast in watching Iris's expression. However, it _was_ new to Georgia, Burgundy, and Trip. Burgundy gasped a little and exchanged a worried look with Georgia, whilst Trip straightened up in surprise. Iris's bottom lip quivered.

"I know," she said quietly, ignoring her companions' looks. Her grip tightened on top of Cilan's hand. "But I'm confident Cilan and I can do it together."

The Elder was silent for a while, lowering her eyes as she contemplated this. Then, resolved, she looked directly at Iris again and asked, "What can I do to help?"

Iris appeared deeply relieved, but quickly grew serious.

"Zekrom is badly hurt. He needs the care of the village doctors," she said. "We also—"

"—That's enough." The Elder raised her hand. "If Zekrom is injured, that is our first priority. You may tell me what else you need, as well as elaborate on how you came to capture him later."

Iris fell back with a hum and a nod.

"Right," she agreed. The Elder lowered her hand.

"Go wake Jolon, if he isn't still up," the Elder ordered. "Bring him here immediately, and ask him to send Malia for any other help we may need. Go now."

* * *

Shannon was the first of the evening to shed tears. The moment she stepped through the open doorway to the Elder's home, where the village medics were gathering, and saw Iris standing alive among them, her eyes began to well up. She threw her arms around Iris before Iris had even realized she was there and sobbed.

"Shannon!" Iris exclaimed in surprise, stumbling from the force of her old friend's embrace. The peculiarity of the sudden gesture dawned on Shannon, and she pulled back, wiping away her tears.

"Sorry," she apologized, shyly lowering her head.. "It's just—I thought—"

Iris knew what she meant. She placed both hands comfortingly on Shannon's shoulders and leaned close.

"It's okay," she assured her. "I'm fine."

Shannon smiled weakly and raised her eyes toward Iris again.

"Is it really true?" she asked. "Did you really capture Reshiram and Zekrom?"

Iris's chest swelled.

"Yes," Iris said, nodding. Shannon let out an incredulous breath.

"Iris, that's… that's incredible," she marveled.

"Well, I didn't do it alone," Iris said, casting a glance over her shoulder at Cilan and the others. They appeared a little uncomfortable at their own purposelessness; they were surrounded by the hustle of village medics scrambling to prepare their best remedies, and there was little they could do other than get out of the way. However, she caught Cilan's eye, and he offered her a smile. Iris smiled, too, before looking back at Shannon.

"I need you to do me a favor," Iris requested before leaning closer to whisper in her ear.

"Iris!" Jolon called to her a few minutes later. "We're ready when you are."

"Okay." Iris nodded to him before reaching into her bag and pulling out Zekrom's Pokéball. She then glanced toward her friends and said, "I want you all to stay here with Shannon."

"What?" Georgia straightened up. "Why?"

"Zekrom was badly abused by Team Plasma. Being surrounded by a lot of people could stress him out," Iris explained. She then averted her gaze before adding, "... I also asked Shannon to show you the tape."

A beat of silence followed.

"We don't have to watch the tape," Burgundy reminded her. "We believe you." Cilan nodded with her, and Trip and Georgia also seemed to be in agreement. Their faith made Iris's heart swell and made her question why she had ever doubted them in the first place.

"I know," Iris said. "But I want you to. It's important to me."

Trip pressed his lips hard together.

"Well, if that's how you feel…" he said before trailing off. He left the sentence unfinished, but the sentiment was understood.

Shannon took the group back to her home, a short walk from the Elder's abode. Shannon was pleasant, but clearly shaken up over the whole ordeal. She helped them settle in her living room, where an old TV set with an equally old VCR was set up.

"I-I'm impressed you made it all the way here from Opelucid in one day," Shannon remarked. "Have any of you eaten? You must be hungry."

"We… haven't, actually," Burgundy admitted with hesitation. While Shannon was Iris's friend, she felt uncomfortable accepting her hospitality when she barely knew her.

"Oh… Oh! Well, I'll see if I can quickly fix something up," Shannon offered. "Please, make yourselves at home. When you're tired, I can make up some beds for you, too."

"Thank you, Shannon," Cilan said with a warm smile. She nodded to him and hurried out of the room. Cilan turned to face the other and sucked in his breath. The tape was in his hands.

"So… let's get this over with, I suppose," Georgia said. They were in agreement, so Trip turned off the light, and Cilan pushed the tape into the VCR and rewound it to the time specified on the front.

They watched, knowing what to expect. Still, the moment the tower collapsed and Benga's face was lit up in the night, a few audible breaths were drawn. Cilan also swallowed and felt his jaw tighten when he saw the mark Benga left on the downed tower. He cast glances at his companions. Burgundy had pressed a hand over her mouth. Georgia had folded her arms, looking deeply unimpressed. Trip was expressionless, yet he was the one to stand, walk toward the television set, and press "stop." He then looked at the others and opened his mouth to speak—but a woman's voice followed.

"So Benga's joined Team Plasma… ?"

Their heads collectively jerked behind them, where Shannon stood with a tray full of some sliced fruit and other assorted finger foods. Her gaze was wide, still focused on the now-dark screen. Even as she set the tray down on the low square table before them, her eyes never left that screen.

"You know Benga?" Cilan inquired.

"We've met," Shannon delicately admitted as she settled herself among them. "He came here a few times with his grandmother, when she was still alive."

"Well, I don't think it's so much that he's joined Team Plasma as he is trying to recruit people for the Truth Seekers," Trip mumbled. Shannon blanched.

" _What?!_ " she squeaked. "The Truth Seekers?" As in, _the_ Truth Seekers?"

"You... had a bigger reaction to that than thinking he was a part of Team Plasma," Georgia remarked, looking a little estranged.

"Well, I certainly don't condone joining Team Plasma either," Shannon said, recovering. "But it's hard to believe a Draconid like Benga would have anything to do with the Truth Seekers."

"Benga's a Draconid?" Burgundy asked incredulously.

"Yes," Shannon confirmed, nodding. "His grandmother, Alder's wife, was from this village." Cilan exchanged intrigued looks with the others. Benga's heritage perhaps explained some of Iris's behavior around him.

"Benga's actually the leader of the Truth Seekers," Trip eventually said, looking back at Shannon.

"That's…" Shannon pressed a hand to her cheek and turned her head away. "Surely his grandmother must have said something… I can't imagine she wouldn't have…" Cilan straightened up suddenly whilst his eyes studied her. He realized he had an opportunity.

"Shannon, why is it the Draconid hate the Truth Seekers so much?" he asked evenly. Shannon's hand fell into her lap.

"Did Iris never tell you?" she inquired, blinking at him.

"No, actually," Georgia hummed. "She's always been kinda dodgy on the topic."

Shannon, too, hummed and again glanced away. "I guess that shouldn't be too surprising," she mused. She then sighed and looked back at the group. "Does the name Vero Albinus sound familiar?"

"Yes," Trip answered. "He was the explorer from the Indigo regions who settled Unova."

"That's putting it in very nice terms." Shannon smiled weakly. "I'm assuming you know the general history of the Great War, too?"

"Yeah, we don't need a history lesson," Georgia said, trying to prod Shannon to get to the point. Shannon seemed to understand, but she flicked her gaze aside.

"With all due respect, I think you do," she said. She was trying to maintain her smile and light, pleasant tone, but it faltered every now and then into solemn bitterness. "Vero Albinus started the Truth Seekers during the Great War. Their purpose was simple: To wipe out the Draconid and take Unova for themselves. They succeeded, too."

"Wipe out?" Burgundy perked up in alarm.

"As in, genocide," Shannon clarified. "'Draconid' is actually a very, very broad term. There were hundreds of different tribes across Unova before the war. They're gone now. People like myself, Iris, and Benga are all that's left two hundred years later."

* * *

At the sound of a low rumble from the back of Zekrom's throat, Iris immediately pressed her forehead against his and murmured words of comfort. They were an hour deep into treatment. The task was not only difficult because of the enormity of the beast, but also because of the number of wounds needing medical attention. An open field had been sectioned off from the rest of the village. No one, aside from the Elder, Iris, and the medical help were allowed near, so their ministrations could carry on in peace.

When Zekrom calmed again, Iris pulled her head back and stroked the side of his face affectionately. Zekrom closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nostrils. The air was warm against Iris's skin.

"You've been through very much," the Elder remarked once Iris had pacified Zekrom. She stood near Iris, but kept a respectable distance between herself and the Legendary; Zekrom was still not too trusting. "When you left, you were a child. Now, I see you are an adult."

Iris managed a smile. She had just finished telling the Elder everything: The PCA Nimbasa campus fire, the ruins in Striaton City, her near-fatal encounter with Reshiram, her journey to the Truth Seekers, her imprisonment among Team Plasma, her capture of Zekrom, and the string of events that finally led her and her companions to flee the Truth Seekers. If there was one truly notable quality of the Elder, it was that she was an excellent listener. Her tired magenta eyes were engaged with every word, and she nodded at all the right times and knew the power of a well-placed comforting touch or a sympathetic smile.

"The young man, Cilan…" the Elder continued thoughtfully. "Has he been treating you well?"

Well, maybe not everything. Iris wasn't quite ready to share that her and Cilan's relationship had taken an amorous turn, mainly because she wasn't quite ready to define what that turn meant. Still, it seemed the Elder had sensed something was different.

"Yes," Iris said, deciding not to elaborate.

"The journey ahead of you, it is a hard one," the Elder said. "You'll need to look after each other." At that point, Iris wasn't sure whether she was offering words of wisdom regarding their upcoming departure for Mount Taima or relationship advice.

"We will," Iris assured her. "We've been best friends for forever. If we've survived this long, we'll get through this too. And we'll have our friends, and Reshiram and Zekrom, to support us."

"You must be careful," the Elder warned. "Do not forget, Reshiram and Zekrom are natural enemies. Any measure of disunity between you and Cilan could be disastrous. If you fight, you could easily lose control of them, and they may turn against each other once again."

Iris sucked in her breath a little shakily.

"I know."

Yet, the Elder smiled and placed her hand on Iris's shoulder.

"You've done well, and I have faith in you," she said. "But it may be wise to speak with Cilan and ensure you're of one mind and heart on these matters."

Iris nodded slowly. The Elder was right, she knew. It was a conversation she and Cilan had yet to hold. While it was implicitly understood Cilan would be a major part of their effort to reunite the Dragons, Iris wasn't sure if he knew _just_ how major a part he would play.

"Iris." Iris snapped out of her thoughts and looked to her left to see Jolon approaching from behind Zekrom. "We've treated the wounds and sealed them the best we could. Some time back in his Pokeball will move the healing process along."

Iris let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Thank you, Jolon," she said. She stepped back from Zekrom and pulled out his Pokéball. "Return, Zekrom, and rest up. You deserve it." Zekrom submitted to her, and he disappeared within the Pokéball. Iris stowed it safely away in her pocket and looked back at Jolon.

"Best of luck," he said. "We're counting on you… and that boy." With that, he turned away and left. The Elder cleared her throat, and Iris glanced her way.

"Go home," she gently commanded. "We will have everything you and your friends need prepared by the morning."

"Thank you." Iris suddenly embraced her again. When she pulled away, she added, "Good night."

"Good night, my dear," the Elder said. Iris slid fully out of her arms and turned to go—but before she could get far, the Elder suddenly called out, "Oh! There's something you ought to know." Iris perked up and looked back at the Elder, who then frowned and shook her head. "But… I suppose it should wait for the morning. It's much too late. Please, never mind I said anything for now."

Iris blinked.

"Okay..." she hesitantly agreed.

Now alone in her thoughts as proceeded along the beaten path, Iris began to mull over the Elder's advice and, by extension, what she ought to do about Cilan. Neither had seen each other work with Reshiram and Zekrom up close; in fact, Reshiram and Zekrom hadn't even seen each other up close. Perhaps that would be the first order of business in the morning, after she and Cilan had a long conversation about… well, everything. Not just about Kyurem and the Aboriginal Dragon, but them. As in, their relationship.

The notion made Iris's head hurt. The progression of their romance had been instinctual, unmeditated, and in a way, Iris liked that. She was a person of action; it was how she best expressed herself. Still, while words weren't exactly her forte, even she had to admit that they were good at clearing up ambiguities. And the Elder was right: With what she and Cilan were planning, there was no room for any misunderstanding.

She decided she could save talking for the morning—until she opened the door to her home on the village's edge and discovered it occupied.

"Cilan!" Iris exclaimed in surprise. He jerked his head up, looking equally caught off guard. "I thought you'd be asleep by now. Wasn't Shannon going to make you guys beds… ?"

Cilan let out a nervous laugh and rose to his feet from the chair on which he was seated.

"She offered," he said. "I wanted to see you though." A pause. "How did it go with Zekrom?"

"He's going to be fine," Iris answered.

"That's good to hear." Cilan nodded.

An awkward silence followed. Iris twiddled her fingers together and averted her gaze. She wanted to save this for the morning, but since he was here...

"Tomorrow, you and I should… try to introduce Zekrom and Reshiram to each other," Iris suggested. "Or, reintroduce them, I guess."

"Right," Cilan agreed.

This was already agonizing. Iris, her eyes still averted, momentarily chewed on her thumb, trying to think of what to say next—or, at least, what to do to set up the right mood for all of this. _Ugh_ , she thought, it was so much easier when she didn't have to think about what to do, and it just happened. She cleared her throat.

"It's really late, and it's kind of a long walk back to Shannon's house," Iris said. "You should stay with me tonight."

"Okay." Cilan again nodded. "I can make my own bed."

"O-Oh." That wasn't at all the result she intended. "You sure?"

"Yes," Cilan affirmed with a weak smile. "Don't worry about it."

He turned away and pulled an extra set of blankets out from the chest pushed against the wall. It wasn't the first time he had slept over. Still, Iris stood stiffly in place, watching him. He caught her tense gaze, and looked back at her strangely. That was when she, totally off the cuff, announced, "I'm going to change. … You don't have to turn around if you don't want to."

Iris barely saw Cilan's face began to redden when she spun around, feeling her own face burn up. _That_ was what she went with? She supposed that it at least got the point across.

Iris swiftly pulled her shirt over her head and unsnapped the straps across her back. She wasn't sure if he was watching or not, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to. She was feeling pretty stupid by then, and she hoped he, the actual wordsmith, would just _say_ something and get this whole conversation about the state of their relationship going so they could sort it out, go to sleep, and save Unova in the morning.

She felt a new weight upon the edge of her bed. Iris knew then that Cilan had forgone making his own bed and that he _was_ watching her.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about the Truth Seekers and the Draconid?" he asked quietly.

Iris's breath caught. She held her nightshirt firm in her hands.

"... So I'm guessing Shannon explained the history there," she said wearily.

"She did."

Iris bit her bottom lip and pushed a piece of hair out of her face. She almost would have rather gone back to awkwardly stumbling through trying to talk about her feelings.

"I don't know," she said.

"You do, though," Cilan gently prodded. "Please, Iris. After everything, you can trust me."

Iris closed her eyes and sucked in her breath.

"... I was scared," she admitted in a small voice, still turned away from him. "I was scared that even if I told you, you'd still join the Truth Seekers. I don't know if you can really understand, but it would've hurt so much, and I'm not sure we still could've been friends. So, I decided not to tell you, because it would hurt less if you just didn't know."

Cilan said nothing for a moment, processing this. Then, he asked, "Is that why it was so important we see the tape? So you'd be certain we felt the same as you about the Truth Seekers?"

Iris swallowed.

"Yeah," she answered. Guilt suddenly pricked at her, and she quickly added, "Sorry. You and the others really have done so much for me, and I should have every reason to trust you." Her hands clutched hard at her shirt. "I-I am so thankful that—"

She stopped short when she felt his hand on her wrist, his thumb gently running over the scars that Plasma's Liepard had left when it attacked her. She glanced over her shoulder at him in surprise. Until then, she hadn't realized he knew they were there.

Her look must have alarmed him, because his face suddenly pinked and he pulled his hand back.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I went too far."

"N-No," Iris quickly assured him. "You're fine." She was inwardly kicking herself then. She'd gotten him to do something, but she'd accidentally scared him.

"I'm also sorry that I hurt you," Cilan went on after recovering. "Ignorance is not an excuse."

Iris wrung her shirt in her hands. She wasn't sure why she didn't just put it on and face him like a normal human being, but for whatever reason, she didn't want to shut that door that was creaking open the longer this carried on.

"Well… in retrospect, I'm actually glad things happened the way they did," she admitted.

"Even with Team Plasma?" Cilan asked.

Iris shifted.

"Even with Team Plasma," she affirmed. She glanced over her shoulder again. "I know you want to know what happened. And I promise I'll tell you. But not right now. Right now, I just want…" She trailed off, struggling with herself.

"... Want what?" Cilan asked in a low voice. The sound was almost sensual, whether he wanted it to be or not, and it gave Iris the resolve she needed to finish her statement.

The shirt slid out of her hands as she turned to face him fully.

"I want you to stop being such a prude," she said.

She kissed him. It was unlike their few previous few kisses, which were marked by impulse and came and went with the moment. Even when Cilan had chastely kissed her last night in the Pokémon Center, it was over in the blink of an eye. But this was slow, _deliberate_ , and far, far more intimate.

When she pulled back, arms still encircled around his neck, reality set in _hard_. She was shirtless and straddling his lap _on her bed_. Panic erupted from within her lower abdomen. She wanted to make things _less_ complicated, not _more_. She went into this hoping she could clear up some doubts when they tried to combine Unova's most volatile Legendary Pokémon into one ancient being. This was not the time to be introducing sex into their burgeoning relationship.

The look in Cilan's eyes, which were locked firmly with Iris's—he didn't dare let them venture any lower—suggested he had the same thought on his mind. He gently grasped her wrists, stammering, "I-Iris…"

"I know." Iris closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his, recentering herself. She needed a moment to think, a moment to calm down, and he needed the same. When she opened her eyes again, they were both more at ease, their intimate placements notwithstanding.

"This would be a big step for us," Cilan said. Iris blinked. The tone of his voice suggested he was open to it, even now. She briefly glanced down whilst her thumb brushed over the top button in his shirt. She wasn't pulling it loose, yet.

"Yeah," she agreed. At least now he was leading the conversation like she'd hoped he would. Cilan watched her for a moment, then brushed his hand against her cheek and gently pushed her chin up, so she would look at him again.

"I… I am willing to take that step," he nervously admitted, "if you are." Iris's chest swelled. He went on, "Iris, I am in love with you. I have been for a while now. I just didn't quite realize how much until I thought you were gone." His warm wrapped loosely around her waist, and she felt the tips of his fingers from his other hand ghost along her spine. "So if you feel the same…"

The last few tendrils of apprehension writhing in her died away. She had been agonizing over what to say, over how to ensure they were wholeheartedly unified when they reached the heights of Mount Taima. And here was how. She was a person of action, after all.

Her hands slipped behind his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair.

"I do," she said, and she kissed him deeply. His hesitations evidently fell away too. When their kiss broke, his lips found her neck, and they surrendered to the feeling.

...

When it was over, Cilan was running his thumb along the scars on her wrist again. They faced each other, close enough to feel the warmth of the other's breath.

"It's funny, how this all turned out…" he remarked. "After two hundred years, down the line, here we are."

She knew what he meant, and she let out a light, airy laugh before leaning forward to kiss him again. They found rest before all of the night dwindled away.

* * *

 _What could go wrong?_

A lot, actually. Still, Iris was feeling more optimistic than she ever had the following morning. Whatever would happen, whatever would go wrong, they would overcome it. She was one with Zekrom; Cilan was one with Reshiram; and she and Cilan were one with each other.

 _What could go wrong?_

"You're positively glowing this morning," Cilan remarked a little cheekily, hovering nearby as Iris's face came up dripping with water from her sink. "Any particular reason?"

Iris flicked some stray droplets at him.

"Don't get too cocky," she teased back, smiling. They were dressed and getting ready to head out. Iris knew a clearing outside the village where they could bring out Zekrom and Reshiram together, just to test the waters before they dove (or rather, climbed) headfirst into Mount Taima to find Kyurem. That was their main objective of the day. If all went well, then they could depart the village for their true mission.

"By the way," Cilan started carefully as Iris dried her hands. "We may want to think about what we're going to tell the others when we see them this morning, and I was gone all night."

Iris shrugged.

"We don't have to say anything about it," she casually replied. "Same as Georgia and Burgundy never say anything."

"That's true..." Cilan conceded, though his voice trailed off.

Iris smiled again and, turning from the sink and leaning back against the rim with one hand, she reached up to touch the edge of his jaw with her other.

"Don't worry about it so much," she assured him. "We've stayed together since the beginning. No one will even think anything of it as long as neither of us act weird about it."

Cilan's fears of their privacy being trampled upon assuaged, he, too, smiled. Then he added, "So… shall we get started?"

Iris nodded quickly.

"Yeah," she agreed.

The morning air was warm, but not overbearing as Cilan and Iris ventured past the village's edge. Iris carried Zekrom's Pokéball in her hand and turned it over carefully in her fingers, feeling the heat emanating from inside. She remembered the sense of dread that had filled her when she held Reshiram's Pokéball. Not so with Zekrom.

She wondered if Cilan felt the reverse when handling Reshiram's ball, and if so, how had not known that he was the Hero of Truth earlier?

"I have to admit, I'm not sure how to go about this," Cilan confessed suddenly, drawing Iris's gaze toward him. "I'm not sure it would be in good taste to spring, 'We would like you to combine with your mortal enemy and former shell' on Reshiram and Zekrom so suddenly. I can't imagine that idea would go over well, even if we've established a good connection with them."

"I know what you mean," Iris said. "But that's why we're doing this." They reached the clearing: a meadow overrun with tiny speckles of red flowers and dandelions. She reached out to grasp Cilan's hand with hers. "As long as you and I stay in sync with each other, and we stay in sync with Reshiram and Zekrom… it'll be fine."

Cilan laced his fingers through hers and nodded.

"You first," he graciously said. Iris also gave a quick nod, let go of Cilan's hand, and held Zekrom's Pokéball out.

"Zekrom… there's someone I want you to meet."

Cilan sucked in his breath as the appearance of the enormous, dark-scale Legendary eclipsed the morning sun and cast a long shadow over both him and Iris. His knees trembled a little bit, and Iris, noticing, reached out and touched his hand again reassuringly. Then, she looked toward Zekrom and gestured he lean down.

He did so, and the sun again appeared over the horizon of him.

"Zekrom, this is my friend Cilan," Iris introduced. Cilan gave an uncomfortable wave and smile, unsure of what else to do. "He is very important to me. We're working together to end the war in Unova, and we need your help."

Zekrom let out a long, deep, hum through his nose out but lowered his head even further. Iris's smiled widened and she looked back at Cilan.

"Well, go on," she encouraged him. "He's letting you pet him."

"Oh!... Oh…" Cilan cautiously approached with a shaking hand—the memories of Reshiram's reactions to Iris were not lost on him—but soon pressed skin against scales, running the palm of his hand across the black surface. Zekrom slowly closed and opened his eyes, making what sounded like a sigh of contentment. Cilan became more at ease. "It's very nice to meet you."

Zekrom hummed again, as though he were replying, _You too_.

"The wounds are a lot better," Iris remarked, peering around Zekrom's side. "Jolon really is an amazing."

"I'm glad," Cilan said. He moved his hand further up Zekrom's snout. "We both want you to be well."

Cilan then exchanged a cautious look with Iris, who nodded in return. They both understood what the look in each other's eyes meant, and they were ready. Cilan stepped back and pulled out Reshiram's Pokéball.

"Now, Zekrom…" Iris said, starting to sound a little anxious. Cilan, meanwhile, was muttering something indistinguishable to Reshiram in his Pokéball. "There's… someone else we want you to meet, or rather, to meet again."

Zekrom lifted his head, now looking suspicious.

Cilan released Reshiram to the opposite side of the field. At the moment he materialized, Reshiram went stiff. Zekrom reacted similarly; he stood on two feet again, and the two Legendaries stared each other down.

Cilan and Iris waited through the tense silence with bated breath, watching both Pokémon for even the slightest change in movement. Reshiram was the first to break his stance. He lowered his head and let out a low growl, the fire in his turbine begin to whirl. Zekrom responded in kind with the electricity in his tail sparking to life. Iris inhaled sharply and sprinted between them. Cilan cried out for her and grabbed for her, but to no avail.

"Wait!" she called out, holding her hands out between them. "Please! Don't fight." Zekrom went still, but Reshiram roared then, his fires increasing in intensity.

And that's when Cilan ran out, too.

"Please!" he implored, speaking to Reshiram while protectively coming to Iris's side. "I understand." Cilan glanced at Zekrom, too, appealing to them both. "I know there is a negative history here. But there was a time when you were _together_ , and you were the protector of the people in Unova." Iris blinked and looked back at Cilan. He continued, "The differences between you may be deep—but there must be a bridge between you that you can build, a middleground whereupon you can meet."

Reshiram's fire began to dim. Iris inhaled in amazement and did a double-take between him and Zekrom. The Dragons' gazes were firmly locked still, but slowly… surely… the animosity was fading.

Zekrom was the first to lay down.

Reshiram watched him for a moment longer, then lay down too. There would be no conflict.

Iris now let out a shaky, incredulous breath before turning toward Cilan fully as he did the same. They were both positively beaming, and Cilan dipped low for an exuberant but equally relieved kiss. When they broke apart, they were grinning. Iris still had her arm around his tall shoulders, so she stood on the tips of her toes, almost hovering off the ground.

"We… We did it!" Cilan celebrated.

"And it was so _easy_ ," Iris marveled. "We can make this happen. We can combine the Tao Trio into the Aborginal Dragon again!" A thought suddenly struck her, and she looked curious when she asked, "How did you know to say all that? About how they used to be one being and protect Unova together."

Cilan smiled crookedly.

"I may have skimmed through that book you had in your bag. The chapter on the Aboriginal Dragon was marked," he explained.

Iris pressed her lips together, though she was still smiling.

"Shauntal comes through again," she remarked wryly.

Before she could explain what she meant, their victorious moment was cut short. A flock of Pidove erupted into the sky above the village. Cilan and Iris jerked their heads that way, feeling a chill wash over them. Zekrom and Reshiram, too, looked toward the village.

"Something's happening," Iris said quickly.

"What is?" Cilan asked.

"I don't know," Iris answered, pulling out Zekrom's Pokéball, "but we should hurry back." Cilan nodded and also pulled out Reshiram's Pokéball.

"Zekrom—"

"Reshiram—"

"— _return_!"


	12. What Dies

**Chapter XII: What Dies**

 _There is no satisfying conclusion to all this. I hope you weren't waiting for one because you won't be happy. Truth be told, I try not to think about what happened in the end. I realize that people who read this might think that's strange. Objectively, what happened was incredible; in fact, some might call it a miracle. But it's hard not to have regrets with the way it all turned out._

 _Sure, we "won." But nothing was ever gained in us winning. People we love are still dead. Unova was still destroyed. There are still scars. We lost far more than any of it was ever worth._

* * *

Cilan held fast to Iris's wrist as they tore through the brush, sprinting back to the Village of Dragons. It was only at the forest's edge overlooking the village that they stopped to catch their breath. With their chests heaving, their eyes darted from rooftop to rooftop for any sign of trouble.

All seemed well. Yet, there remained an inexplicable sense of dread hanging in the air. It was eerily quiet, and it didn't sit well with either of them.

Iris tugged on Cilan's sleeve. "We need to find the others," she said in a low voice. He nodded, and they ventured forward again, with greater caution. At the first home they reached, she pulled on his sleeve once more so that they clung to the wall together. She peered around the corner to catch a glimpse of the main road.

Cilan let out a long breath. "I think we're just being paranoid," he said after a moment. "Maybe those Pidove—"

"Shh—!"

There were voices. Cilan then peered around the corner, too, and inhaled sharply: In the distance was the unmistakable shape and color of Elesa. She stood among a small handful of others gathered near the Elder's home, but she was the most distinguishable of the bunch in her bright yellow frock.

"The Truth Seekers are here," Cilan breathed. "They must have followed us."

"Or Benga just knew I'd come here," Iris added through gritted teeth. "Stupid, I should've—" She stopped short, groaning as she pressed her palms against her face. Cilan laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine," he said. "You know we had to come here anyway—for Zekrom." Iris lowered her hands again with a hissing sigh and a nod.

"What should we do?" she asked. Cilan furrowed his eyebrows and briefly glanced aside from the scene, wetting his lips.

"We… We should…" He struggled to speak as he attempted to formulate a plan. Still try to find the others? Run now? Or maybe they ought to be bold and confront Benga—it might not be so hard, with Zekrom and Reshiram on their side. He inwardly kicked himself at the idea, though. Iris would reject it immedaitely. Using Zekrom and Reshiram to solve their personal conflicts, it would make them no better than the Truth Seekers or Team Plasma. He could imagine her saying it now, and he would have to agree. "We should—"

He gasped when he felt a mysterious hand on his shoulder. He spun around and saw Burgundy, along with Georgia and Trip. Burgundy recoiled back, caught off guard by his sudden reaction, and Iris also turned in alarm.

"Ah! Burgundy," Cilan sucked in his breath. "You scared me!"

"Scared you?" Georgia cut in. "You scared us! You disappeared all night, we couldn't find either you or Iris this morning, and then _these_ guys showed up! Where were you?"

"I—" Cilan pinked, but before he could say anything further, Trip hushed them all.

"Keep it down," he said in a harsh whisper. "We'll draw attention to ourselves."

"Doesn't matter where anyway," Iris said. "We found each other, that's what's important. We need to go, _now_."

"What about them?" Burgundy asked with a quick gesture toward what lay around the corner.

"They're distracted, so now's our chance," Iris urged.

"That isn't all of them," Trip said. "It's just a few over there. They've spread out all over the village looking for you."

"What?!" Iris's voice rose a mite in volume, and Trip hushed her again before continuing.

"Skyla was at Shannon's door this morning," he said. "We had to sneak out through the back. I'm amazed the Truth Seekers didn't find you before we did." Iris's fingers curled into fists.

"How could he," she growled aloud, though to no one in particular. "He should know how we feel about strangers, about the _Truth Seekers_ , and he sends them to raid our village anyway—and for what?!"

"So we're doomed, I guess," Georgia huffed. "Unless we're all up for 5-on-20 battle."

"You're being dramatic," Burgundy said. "Both of you."

" _You_ don't get it," Iris snapped.

"No, I do," Burgundy asserted. "Shannon explained the bad history between the Truth Seekers and the Draconid, and I understand that. But a lot of those people—those other Truth Seekers—they're our friends, _your_ friends. They're people who respected Drayden, and they respect you. Why do you think Benga was so easily able to assemble your rescue team once he made that call?"

Iris's mouth suddenly clamped shut.

"... So what are you suggesting?" Cilan asked. Burgundy sucked in her breath.

"If it's Benga we don't trust, then it's Benga we need to take care of," she said carefully. "We'll Iay a false trail—I'll say you already escaped and that you're on your way back to Dragonspiral Tower to release Reshiram and Zekrom. The commotion from finding me might be enough to give you guys a chance to escape."

"Finding you?" Iris repeated. Then, her eyes went wide. "You…You intend to get yourself captured."

A stunned silence followed as suddenly _all_ eyes, filled with either alarm or revelation, were on Burgundy. Burgundy stiffened under the pressure of their collective gazes, but she quickly regathered herself to elaborate.

"I'll find Stephan or Bianca and turn myself in," she said. "I'll tell them the truth, and they'll understand. They'll help us."

"We can't leave without you." Georgia crossed her arms.

"Yes, you can," Burgundy pressed. "You have to."

"You don't know what they'll do to you," Cilan said worriedly. "Benga might not treat someone who defected too kindly."

"I can talk my way out of it." Burgundy smiled weakly, halfheartedly smoothing a wrinkle out of her shirt before adding, "I am, after all, a skilled Connoisseuse. I have a way with words."

"But, Burgundy—" Iris started.

"—just!" Burgundy's voice rose in frustration then, but she tempered herself before continuing. "Just let me do this for you. I've been useless these past few months, but you brought my Pokémon back to me! Let me do something for you, too."

A beat of silence followed. Iris's chest swelled with emotion, as did her eyes, and she leapt forward to embrace Burgundy. Burgundy was clearly caught of guard; she stumbled a little, her eyes blinking a few times in quick succession.

"You haven't been useless," Iris muttered into Burgundy's hair. "... But I appreciate it." Burgundy let on another crooked smile and briefly returned Iris's gesture before pulling back.

"I'll be fine," Burgundy assured her. "Don't worry about me. Just worry about Reshiram and Zekrom."

Georgia reached out and grasped Burgundy's free hand.

"Take care of yourself, too, okay?" she said. Burgundy gripped her hand in return.

"I will." She then glanced toward the remaining two members of their group. "Trip, _rester vigilant_. Cilan, please do something right for once and make sure Iris doesn't get herself killed." Trip nodded and Cilan managed a weak laugh. Burgundy began to slide her hand away from Georgia's. "I'm going now. Stay sharp to any chance you can get to escape."

"We will," Iris agreed. "We'll see you again soon."

Burgundy pulled away completely and, with a smirk, said, "Right. _Je compte sur toi_."

* * *

Hilda brushed her thumb anxiously over the skin of her forearm, though her clear blue eyes remained sharp as she watched the scene unfold before her. She did not want to be there, but then again, she did not want to be outside either, scouting the homes of village residents—even for their cause.

Benga was equally stiff as he watched the Elder pour him and herself a cup of tea, which she pressed slowly across the table toward him. He grasped it and took a sip, only to be polite.

"You shouldn't have come here like this," were the Elder's first words in a while. "You ought to understand how the people here feel about the Truth Seekers. Your presence is not welcome."

"I know. I understand the Draconid's history—our history," Benga said. "But we mean no harm to the village." The Elder said nothing, raising her own drink to her lips. Benga leaned forward, toward her. "Elder, you haven't answered my question yet. You promised you would tell me where Iris is going if I came in and sat with you. I know she's been here. She wouldn't have gone anywhere else without coming here first."

The Elder lowered her cup again.

"If you know Iris and if you know the Draconid so well, then you have no need to ask me where she is headed," she said. Benga closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. There was an edge of frustration visibly in him.

"Elder," he began. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I can't afford the time to play this game. You don't want to tell me, but you won't lie to me—fine. But Iris could be in serious danger."

The Elder, still, said nothing. In a flickering moment of desperation, Benga spun back toward Hilda. "Tell her, Hilda," he implored. "Tell her what you told me."

Hilda straightened up in alarm.

"I-I…" she stammered, caught off guard. She never finished—or rather, was never able to start—explaining. The curtain to the outside was slid aside, and there stood Elesa, backlit by the morning sunlight.

"Pardon the intrusion," she said apologetically. "Benga, some of the other Seekers found one of Iris's friends in the village."

Benga's eyes went wide, and he immediately stood up.

"Which one?" he asked.

"Burgundy," Elesa answered. "She said the others have already gone—and that they're on their way to Dragonspiral Tower."

* * *

Lying about the others' whereabouts was easy. The truth, however, and in particular, _telling_ it—that was difficult.

"I just don't _understand_ ," Cress bemoaned with a hand pressed to his face. "How could you just leave in the middle of the night? How could _Cilan_ do that to us? He had to have known we were trustworthy, wouldn't he? He told us that he was the one to capture Reshiram, not Iris…"

They were alone in an unoccupied cabin. Alone, in the sense that there was no one outside their circle of friends there. Cameron was keeping watch for the door for when Bianca would inevitably return from informing Benga of their "capture," whilst Burgundy sat squirming in an old wooden chair, fielding confused and upset questions from Stephan, Luke, Chili, and Cress.

"I-It's not that we didn't trust you," Burgundy stammered. "It's not that Cilan didn't trust you either. He _wanted_ to go back for you, but Trip said we couldn't risk the time, so we just had to go. He wasn't wrong either. I mean, you ended up closing in on us pretty quickly…"

Luke folded his arms.

"I suppose I'm just a little confused as to why you felt like you needed to run anyway, and why Iris felt like she needed to keep Zekrom a secret," he said.

"It's _nothing_ against any of you," Burgundy again emphasized. "If it was, I would have _never_ just handed myself over like this. I knew I could because I knew that we could trust you, that you would help us!"

No one spoke. Burgundy winced and averted her eyes, wondering, briefly, if she had made a mistake—but only briefly, because soon, Stephan grinned, exchanging a look and a chuckle with the others.

"Well, you're right about that," he said. "So what can we do to help?"

Burgundy perked up, drawing a quick, silent breath as she did. She, too, smiled.

"Iris and the others aren't _really_ on their way to Dragonspiral," she said. "They're going to Mount Taima. She and Cilan plan to reunite Reshiram and Zekrom with Kyurem to form the Aboriginal Dragon."

"The Abo—whoa, hey, that's just a legend!" Chili suddenly interjected. "You can't be serious. Cilan isn't even the type of guy to believe in that kind of thing."

"Well, you wouldn't think Cilan would be the type of guy to capture Reshiram, and yet—" Burgundy said with a click of her tongue.

"Putting that aside," Cress said before they could stray too far from the matter at hand. "Why, then, say you're going to Dragonspiral?"

"We're trying to keep Benga from following us," Burgundy explained. Seeing their bewildered expressions, she quickly added, "There are some things we've found out about Benga that's put his credibility in doubt. He and Hilda, they'd been tracking us—tracking Iris—for months before we even made it to Castelia City. And…"

She paused and breathed in deep, calming breath. She thought of the tape that showed Benga destroying the communication tower, and the following, haunting questions of how far he was willing to go. The Striaton Gym was gone, and the perpetrators' identity, of which they were once so certain, was now in deep question.

"I… I actually worry Benga might be so upset over what happened to his grandfather that he's more concerned about exacting revenge on Team Plasma than actually ending the war. I know the others feel the same," Burgundy said. "But Iris thinks if she can reform the Aboriginal Dragon, she can, at least, prevent Team Plasma and the Truth Seekers from using Reshiram and Zekrom against each other."

Her audience would have liked a moment for this assessment to sink in, but it was then that Cameron poked his head inside and hissed, "Hey! Ix-nay the Enga-Bay talk! Bianca's comin' back with him and Hilda!"

A wild panic seized Burgundy, and she jerked her head back toward the others to make a final plea: "Please! Just help me sell this. I trust Iris, but I don't trust—."

"—don't trust who?"

Benga had entered the room with Hilda at his shoulder and Bianca shuffling behind them. Cameron was a step further behind, still making a desperate, repeated gesture across his jaw to cut the conversation. Burgundy snapped her mouth shut and tensed up. She was _about_ to say Benga. How much had he heard? She quickly racked her mind for a better end to her sentence.

"I—I trust Iris, but I don't trust N." That was the name of the new Plasma Champion, right? Burgundy was mentally crossing her fingers that it was.

"Wait—What do you mean?" Hilda suddenly stepped forward at the mention of N. Her intrusion threw off Burgundy, and she floundered for a moment. Hilda, Burgundy worriedly remembered, was the Truth Seekers' informant on Team Plasma would sniff out any inconsistencies in N's character if Burgundy didn't string together a believable story.

"I mean…" Burgundy began slowly to buy herself time to think.

"She explained it to us," Cress interjected. Burgundy felt an immediate and immense relief at his words, and she had to fight not to let it show: Cress had devised something. "Iris's plan to release Reshiram and Zekrom at Dragonspiral Tower might have been influenced by N. They're somewhat ideologically similar, and they may have met while she was a prisoner of Team Plasma."

Benga seemed to consider this. Hilda, less so. Her eyes, Burgundy noticed, were more focused on him; her lips were tight, and her arms were crossed.

"That makes sense," Benga finally said. Burgundy snapped her head back toward him, feeling another immense sense of relief wash over her. Benga then turned to Hilda, saying, "N's a true believer in Team Plasma's Pokémon Liberation mantra, right? And Iris formed some kind of relationship with him while she was there, so…"

"They were together when I found them," Hilda confirmed. "Iris wanted him to leave with her."

This was news to Burgundy. It _did_ make sense for Iris and N to have met at some point during their imprisonment, which was why her and Cress's joint fabrication was made at least somewhat convincing. But that was _supposed_ to be a lie, not an actual possibility. Benga must have noticed a change in her expression, because he flicked his gaze back over to her, giving her a once-over, before looking at Bianca again.

"So where'd you find her?" he asked Bianca. Her small, hunched shoulders quickly straightened out.

"Oh! We, um…" Bianca started, unsure.

"I turned myself in," Burgundy answered for her. It was true: When she saw Bianca and Stephan together, she called out to them, much to their surprise. "It's like I said: I don't trust N."

Hilda folded her arms. "If that was the case, why leave with Iris in the first place?" she asked doubtfully. "Just so you could turn on her later?" Burgundy winced. The reflection on her character was evident.

"I… I didn't realize…" She nervously searched for a response. Hilda's eyes remained hard, but Benga seemed to be already satisfied.

"Well, you're right not to trust N," Benga said. "We also believe Iris and N probably conspired together. Whatever good intentions Iris might have, N and Team Plasma don't. There's good reason to think they'll be waiting for Iris to get to Dragonspiral Tower with Reshiram and Zekrom."

Burgundy's chest and throat tightened.

"And… and do what?" she asked weakly.

"They want Reshiram and Zekrom," Benga said bluntly. "Considering what they did to my grandfather, it's not hard to guess what they'd be willing to do."

Burgundy was mortified. If it was true N and Iris had met and hatched a plan together—and it seemed increasingly possible—then there was a very real chance Iris, Cilan, Georgia, and Trip were walking straight into a death trap. And there would be no reinforcements from the Truth Seekers to save them, because Benga now believed they were going to Dragonspiral Tower, not Mount Taima.

Burgundy's companions seemed to be having the same revelation, and they were exchanging nervous glances with each other and looking at her for a cue. Should they keep up this facade? Should they break down and reveal the truth?

"N doesn't have bad intentions, either," Hilda tersely corrected. "He's a pawn to Ghetsis. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Benga looked annoyed then.

"It doesn't matter if he doesn't know what he's doing," he said firmly. "Iris and the others' lives are in danger, as are our chances of taking down Team Plasma and ending this war."

Hilda narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms. Burgundy held her breath. The atmosphere had suddenly and perceptibly grown tense, and she sensed a fight.

"I don't like what you're implying," she growled.

"I'm not implying anything," Benga said.

"You just remember what you promised me," Hilda warned.

"Hilda—"

"Don't 'Hilda' me."

Benga snapped then.

"You're out of line," he snarled.

" _I'm_ out of line?" Hilda incredulously repeated. "Take a good look in the mirror at yourself, at what you're doing. You're on a dangerous road right now—"

"—You're not my grandfather, don't lecture me." He turned away but kept an eye on her. "This ends now. We depart for Dragonspiral, immediately."

He stormed out the door. Hilda stood seething, while everyone remained struck by what they had just witnessed, unsure of what to make of the whole incident.

"What was that about?" Burgundy asked in a breathy whisper to those closeby.

"I haven't a clue," Cress said, also under his breath.

"Burgundy," Hilda said. She was still facing the door, away from the connoisseuse.

Burgundy went rigid. "Yes?" she said in an embarrassing almost-squeak.

Hilda turned to her. "Where is Iris, really?" she asked. The question briefly sucked the air out of the room. Burgundy stared at her wide-eyed. "Don't lie to me," Hilda went on before Burgundy even had a proper chance to respond. "I know you're covering for her. I can tell by how you reacted when Benga said Team Plasma would be waiting for her."

Burgundy swallowed.

"Were Iris and N really together when you found them?" she asked.

"Yes," Hilda answered plainly.

"And you actually believe Ghetsis is using N to meet Iris?"

"Yes."

Burgundy bit her bottom lip, closed her eyes, and sucked in her breath. On the exhale, she opened them again and said, calmly, with some resignation, "She and the others are going to Mount Taima. I… I said she was going to Dragonspiral as diversion because Iris doesn't trust Benga."

It was a risk, Burgundy knew, revealing this. Hilda was impossibly difficult to read, and that had its own set of complications, but at the very least, Burgundy sensed her and Benga's fight wasn't staged. Hilda would act of her own accord, and that was what Burgundy considered dangerous.

Yet, she knew she had been right to trust her instinct when Hilda turned away and said, "Well, I don't trust Benga anymore either."

Marlon poked his head through the door.

"Hey!" he called. "Benga just said we're all leaving for Dragonspiral."

"Tell him I'm not going," Hilda said. Marlon blinked confusedly.

"Wha—?"

"I'm staying here to clean our mess in the village up," Hilda explained. "If he has a problem with that, he can wait."

"Ah… got it," Marlon said. He, too, sensed some tension and apparently didn't want to get too involved. Once he left, Hilda turned to Burgundy and pulled her up by the arm.

"You and I, we're going to Mount Taima," Hilda told her. Her eyes then turned to the remainder of the group. "The rest of you, go to Dragonspiral. It'll be too suspicious if all of you stay behind."

"W-Will you two be okay on your own?" Bianca asked. "And Iris and the others—!"

"It's going to be fine," Hilda reassured her, firmly. "I can handle N; Iris, I think, can handle the rest."

"But—" Chili started.

"Don't argue with me on this," Hilda snapped. "You're wasting time and putting us at risk for being able to go at all. Leave."

Chili reddened angrily, but Cress pulled him from the brink of a tempermental breakdown with a hand and a few whispered words. "She's right. Her intentions would be more questionable if we followed her. For Cilan and everyone else's sake, we need to play along."

Chili sucked in his breath and nodded.

"Fine. Let's go."

They quickly shuffled out of the room, but not without Bianca quietly embracing Burgundy. Once they were all gone, Burgundy let out a shuddery breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, dipping her head low in thought. Then she turned abruptly and grabbed her bag off the back of her chair, anxious to follow where Iris had gone.

"We need to wait here a little longer," Hilda said, stopping Burgundy cold.

"But you said—"

"We have to make sure Benga is out of the village before we make a move," Hilda explained. "When they're gone, my Braviary will help us catch up to Iris and the others before it's too late."

Burgundy shut her mouth, but slowly nodded. She then looked away, thinking again.

"... Why are you helping me?" she asked. "Helping _us_? I thought you sided with the Truth Seekers."

"So did you, but you clearly changed your mind," Hilda said.

Burgundy pressed her lips together.

" _Touché_ ," she said.

Hilda did not respond. She moved to the door and peered outside. Burgundy moved behind her, peeking around her shoulder. The Truth Seekers, her friends included, were regrouping a short distance away. Marlon was speaking with Benga, who stared at him vacantly.

He seemed to sense their eyes, as Benga suddenly looked their way. Hilda retreated, pushing Burgundy back as she did.

"We need to see the Elder," Hilda decided.

* * *

Iris and her cohort had slipped away at the earliest opportunity. Burgundy had been right: Her "capture" had caused enough of a commotion, however little, to grant them a way out. A small distance beyond the village's edge, Shannon met them, with several winter coats and accessories hanging over her arm.

"I'm glad I could catch you again before you left," she said, wrapping a scarf around Iris's shoulders.

"How did you know to find us?" Cilan asked.

"I told her we'd be here," Trip briefly explained, taking one of her coats. It was a tad too large for him, but sizes hadn't been a concern in the rush. "Right after Skyla came."

"Is this really necessary?" Georgia asked, holding up a heavy purple coat. "It's the middle of summer."

"Mount Taima is cold year-round because of Kyurem," Iris said. She then turned to face Shannon. "Thank you, for everything."

Shannon nodded and embraced her. "Be safe, okay?" she said in a low voice, only to Iris. Iris had to swallow.

"I will," she promised.

They departed shortly thereafter, hurriedly, and without pause—for a little while, at least. Despite the lump in her throat, Iris walled herself off to any doubts that could come with the constant reassurance that she could do this, that she and Cilan could do this, that she and Cilan could do this, together, with Reshiram and Zekrom. If she repeated it in her mind over and over again, she would think of nothing else.

Still, another thought did manage to wriggle its way in. She pushed it out at first, but the damage in her fortress had been made, and more of it crumbled away each time the thought returned. Eventually, it showed in her pace. A mile or so off from the village, she started lingering behind the others and, later, stopped entirely, just to glance in the direction of her home. It was no longer in view.

Cilan noticed and stopped, too.

"We have to trust that Burgundy will be fine," he said, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It's not just that." Iris shook her head. "... The Elder had something she wanted to tell me this morning. I never got the chance to see her."

Cilan pursed his lips.

"We'll see her again," he said.

Iris nodded though she wasn't assured; Cilan knew it, too, and he understood why. The words, no matter how much he genuinely believed in them, were empty because they would mean nothing after Kyurem. They only held significance now, while they were on the precipice of danger.

But they had to push forward anyway. With a slight tug of her hand, Cilan got her moving again. He didn't let go for a while; in fact, he may not have ever let go were it not for Iris, who eventually pulled back and wrapped her arms around herself. They were higher, and the air had a bite.

"Chilly?" Trip asked, holding a coat out to her. It was jet black, the smallest of the collection, small enough for a child.

"Yeah," Iris murmured, accepting it. "Thanks."

"So what'll be the plan once we reach Kyurem?" Georgia asked as Iris pulled the coat over her head. Iris struggled with it for a moment—the coat, not the question; it was a size too small—before responding.

"I don't know," she said.

"Wrong answer," Georgia said dryly, glowering at her. Iris shrugged.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she said. "It's the same with Reshiram. I can't plan for anything. I just have to get a feel for the situation and try to speak with him."

"Yeah…" Georgia drawled doubtfully. "Well, that Reshiram thing didn't go too well for you, now did it?"

Under different circumstances—under _any_ kind of normal circumstance—Iris would have become annoyed and come up with a snappy reply of her own. Here, though, she let out a sigh and rubbed her temple with a single index finger. The reaction was enough of an indication, to Georgia at least, that she was hitting a sensitive spot.

"Look, I'm not trying to be negative," Georgia said in a softer tone. "But you almost died last time. I'd like you to live through this. I'd like all of us to."

Iris dropped her hand and inhaled deeply, though she still said nothing. Cilan watched her carefully for a moment before looking back at Georgia.

"It _is_ different this time," he offered. "We have Reshiram and Zekrom on our side. And—" He took Iris's hand. "—We'll be together in this. All four of us."

Iris managed a crooked smile at that.

"Arceus, you're a sap," Georgia scoffed. She flicked a piece of hair off her cheek and turned forward again, toward the face of the mountain. "Well, I guess today's as good a day to die as any…"

"Nobody's going to _die_ ," Trip said. "It is different. We have time. Even if you can't plan ahead—" He looked at Iris. "—there is no need to rush. Assuming everything went well on Burgundy's end, Benga's headed in the opposite direction."

Georgia cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I was being facetious," she objected. She turned and started her hike again. As she did, she added, "We shouldn't assume anything anyway."

Trip shrugged the critique off and followed. Iris lingered behind with Cilan a moment longer, her mouthing twisting into an unimpressed expression.

"For someone who's not trying to be negative…" she started. She need not finish; Cilan understood the sentiment, and he let out a long breath. Iris blinked when she saw the hazy edges of white steam emerging from the corners of his mouth. Already, it was _that_ cold.

"Burgundy's not here," was all he said. It was a simple statement, but it sobered Iris regardless. They caught up with Georgia and Trip.

The temperature only grew worse. The ground beneath them turned icy, and patches of snow started to appear in scattered, thin sheets on the wispy, dead foliage they encountered on the path they forged. Iris pulled Shannon's scarf over her nose. She hated the cold, not just for the string it left in her fingers and toes, but for the vivid memories it brought to the forefront of her mind.

Her parents had died on this trek. She would have, too, were it not for Drayden. Now he was dead as well.

It grew colder still. The light, occasional breeze turned harsh. Dark clouds moved in over them, obscuring the glare of the white summer sun. Iris drew her arms tightly around herself and cast a deeply ponderous gaze at the sky. When the snowfall started, so did the comments.

"I know you said Mount Taima was cold year-round," Cilan said with a shiver in his voice. "But I didn't anticipate it would be this severe."

"Yeah," Georgia agreed. "We're in the middle of the July. This is crazy."

Iris pursed her lips. She managed to wrench a hand from within the warmth of her coat and held it out, letting a few thick, blue flakes fall upon her fingertips.

"This…" she started slowly, "isn't normal."

Georgia, Trip, and Cilan stopped cold in their tracks. The tone of Iris's voice was alarming.

"Not normal?" Trip repeated cautiously. Iris hastily returned her hand to the safety of her coat's pockets and looked directly at him.

"There's not weather like this during the summer," she said. "The last time it was like this…" Her voice trailed off, and Cilan inhaled sharply, though silently.

He remembered what she had told him in the minutes before Team Plasma's initial strike in Castelia, when Iris had finally opened herself to him. It had been at the back of his mind when they first started their hike that this was where Iris had lost her parents, and he worried how she would react on their journey, but it was only know that the more dramatic issue dawned on him.

The reason Iris and her parents had made that trek years ago was because Kyurem was upset. Because of Team Plasma.

"What do you mean?" Georgia asked. "The last time it was like this, what happened?"

"The last time this happened was during the weather crisis ten summers ago," Cilan said in Iris's place. "We were only kids then. But Kyurem caused it."

"So what's making Kyurem mad now?" Georgia pressed. "Is it because we're coming?"

"No," Iris said, shaking her head. "It's not us. But I think I know who it is. We need to hurry." She turned quickly to go, and that was when Trip stepped in.

"Wait one moment," he said firmly. "It was only an hour ago I said we'd be okay if we didn't rush into it like last time. I'm with Georgia on not wanting to repeat what happened with Reshiram."

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Iris said, a little snappishly.

" _Not_ rush," Trip emphasized.

"Team Plasma might be trying to capture Kyurem _right now_ ," Iris argued back. "We have to get there before they can do it. The condition Zekrom was in when I found him, the same could happen to Kyurem if we _don't_ hurry."

Cilan was next to interject. Aware of her rising tension, he placed his hand gently on the small of her back before saying, "Trip and Georgia are both right."

" _What_?" Iris stepped out of his reach.

"Let me finish," Cilan calmly said. "Hurrying and recklessness can go hand in hand. It's how we almost lost you last time. Let's make haste, but let's not be careless. We need to be strong, unified." His hand managed to find rest on her again, this time just off her shoulder. "Your parents died so you could live. Drayden too. That should be reason enough to take caution with what they've given you."

Iris stared directly at him as he spoke, then sighed, briefly shut her eyes, and placed her hand atop his.

"You're right," she said. Cilan smiled, then stepped away and withdrew a Pokéball from within his pocket. At its appearance, all three of his companions perked up with surprise.

"Is that… ?" Georgia said.

"Reshiram," Cilan confirmed, nodding. His hand tightened around the warm sphere whilst his thumb hovered over the release button. "If Kyurem's in trouble, we _will_ save him. But we're taking reinforcements."

Iris raised her chin and her eyes toward his. His gaze was unwavering. Then, she smiled too and reached into her pocket, pulling out Zekrom's Pokéball.

"'Let's make haste, but let's not be careless,'" Iris repeated, now fully understanding what he meant. She pressed the button for release.

* * *

N watched the scene unfold before him with hollow eyes, as if none of it were real, as if it were all a meaningless illusion. He was neither a witness nor a participant. He was not there nor was he anywhere else. He just was. And so, the yellow, iridescent gaze of Kyurem stared right through him to no effect, and the low, guttural growls were mere static thrumming unobtrusively in his ears.

He did not move when Kyurem raised a jagged claw to strike him down. He did not move when the throngs of nameless Team Plasma grunts rushed forward and from behind. He did not move when the chains choked Kyurem's neck and anchored him to ground. They had done this once before, and they now performed it with stunning efficiency. Still, N did not move.

Then when Ghetsis laid a hand on N's shoulder, a spark of life flickered in his eyes, bringing him back into the world again.

"Well done, N," Ghetsis commended. N blinked and shifted his cautiously gaze toward his father.

"I did nothing," N remarked with confusion.

"Precisely." Ghetsis's hand slid off his shoulder.

N's expression fell listless, and he said nothing as Ghetsis turned to leave and admire his new capture. A few more steps forward, however, and then N found his words again.

"Are you certain Iris will come?" he asked.

Ghetsis stopped. "I'm certain," he said. He turned an eye back toward N. "And do you know what you will say when she does?"

"Yes," N answered flatly, looking away. He slipped out of reality again. The chaotic sounds of the scene were now behind him, and they were dragged further and further away until they were mere distant echoes, and the silence around him rang louder.

He stood there, motionless, for a long while. Then—

"N?!"

N's head snapped up and he looked to his left.

His father had been right. Iris had come, cast in a faint blue light, an effect of the shimmering, ethereal ice crystals that lined the walls and ceilings of cave. And she was not alone: She was in the foreground to the legendary Reshiram and Zekrom, together, side by side. It perhaps would have been a more awe-inspiring sight had N not immediately zeroed in on another fact: There were other trainers with her as well.

"Iris," was all N said as she hurried to him.

"You're here!" Her voice was a strange mix of surprise and confusion and perhaps even a tinge of relief. "You're… alone?"

"Yes, of course," N said. "I did not forget what we promised each other."

"But the storm…" Iris trailed off. She was unable to complete her thought as another female trainer stepped forward to cut into the conversation.

"Sorry, one moment," she said. N didn't think she sounded sorry at all. "You _know_ each other? You had 'promises' to each other?"

Iris turned to her, nodding. "N saved me," she explained. "And he led me to Zekrom. _We_ had plans to come to Mount Taima ourselves, but…" She turned a cautious eye toward N.

"But what?" asked another young male impatiently, a blond.

"Ghetsis," was the only word Iris utterered, half as an explanation to him, half as a question for N.

"I have left my father," N said. "I managed to escape not long after you." No longer able to resist, N shifted his gaze toward the other trainers once more and asked, "Iris, who are these people?"

"Oh!" Iris stepped to the side to make a proper introduction. She gestured to the other female trainer first. "This is Georgia." She then shifted her attention to the blonde. "This is Trip." Finally, she turned a little toward the man standing behind her. "And this… is Cilan." Iris glanced at N again. "I've told you about him before. He's the one who captured Reshiram, not me."

Cilan managed a smile and moved forward.

"It's nice to meet you," Cilan politely offered. "Iris told me a little about you last night. Thank you—for saving her life."

"You're the Pokémon Connoisseur," N remarked.

"I… am," Cilan said, a little mystified as to why he brought it up.

"And a Truth Seeker?" N asked. Cilan let out short, breathy laugh.

"No, not anymore," Cilan said. "I suppose you could say we've all renounced our membership."

N blinked.

"I see…" he said. He glanced toward Georgia then. "So are you the friend for whom Iris took those Pokémon?"

The inquiry struck Iris. She jerked her head a little to look at N with her eyebrows furrowed. Georgia, meanwhile scrunched up her face in confusion.

"Uh… What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"Burgundy," Iris answered shortly. "He means Burgundy." She shifted her frame to face N more fully. "I returned her Pokémon to her. They were very happy to see her."

N hummed, indicating he heard her, but he offered no further reply. Iris pressed her lips into a hard line. Cilan traded baffled looks with both Trip and Georgia.

N's eyes, on the other hand, drifted higher until they reached the silent entities looming over them. He smiled.

"Zekrom seems to be doing well," he remarked.

"Yes," Iris agreed, finally tearing her gaze away from N to look at Zekrom, too. "My village's doctors did a wonderful job." Iris extended a hand upward, and Zekrom dipped his head lower so the tip of his snout could meet the palm of her hand. Reshiram snorted jealously and looked at Cilan. Cilan, in response, let out a nervous laugh and looked to Iris for help. She merely raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to follow her lead.

So he did. He, too, offered up his hand, and Reshiram, too, lowered his head. What resulted was a scene worthy of the brush, a stunning tableau that, briefly, even deprived N of his breath. He unconsciously stepped back alongside Trip and Georgia to take in the fullness of the image: The legendary Reshiram and Zekrom, long-written natural enemies, in peaceful company with each other, with the Hero of Truth and the Hero of Ideals at their side. Their figures were washed in a deep blue, and the outline was hazy in the dim light, but the mysterious coloring made the picture all the more gorgeous.

Iris's hand slid further down Zekrom's snout, and she turned her head, just barely, to cast N a wary glanced over her shoulder. After only a moment, she abruptly faced forward again and pulled out a Pokéball.

"Zekrom, return," she said.

Her sudden action prompted confusion from her companions, and horror from N.

"Iris, why—" Cilan started.

"—You should return Reshiram, too," Iris said. It was less of a friendly suggestion than it was direct instruction.

"But…" Trip started, but then Iris flicked her gaze toward him, and something in her eyes shut him up. Iris then managed a smile and looked toward N again.

"N's alone, right?" she said. "So we have nothing to worry about."

"Y-You don't have to put them in those _things_ ," N said with some acidity. Iris nonchalantly ignored the sentiment of his remark as she slipped Zekrom's Pokéball into her pocket.

"They're safer in there," was all she said. She then shot Cilan a pointed glance. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Turning to Reshiram, he also pulled out a Pokéball and returned the legendary dragon.

Iris appeared satisfied, but she drew in a sharp breath when she heard a distant roar from deeper within the cavern. She whipped herself in the direction of the sound.

"That was Kyurem," she said.

"Why is he so upset?" Georgia asked. "You led us to believe that—"

"—Sh!" Iris harshly cut her off. The expression that followed on Georgia's face was a mix of confusion and offense. Yet, when she did a double-take between Iris and N, she pressed her lips together and fell back.

"Well, I'll talk to him," Iris said. She was clenching and unclenching her hands. "I… I can find out why he's upset." She sounded utterly unconvincing, not for lack of confidence, but for lack of conviction. No one spoke against this plan, as they might have done so before. No one, except N.

"You should have Reshiram and Zekrom with you for this," N suggested.

"No," Iris said plainly, firmly.

"It would—"

"—No," Iris repeated, more forcefully. After realizing that further alienating N would yield nothing but trouble, she added, "... Reshiram and Zekrom's wellbeing come first. You understand that, don't you?"

N was swayed.

"Yes," he mumbled deferentially. "I do."

The echo of Kyurem's roar rang out again. Iris swallowed and took in a slow, deep breath. Her fingers were still twitching anxiously; it was taking every ounce of her self-restraint not to sprint away in a wild attempt to find him. The amount of thought she put into every action was unsettling not only to N, but to her other companions.

"We should go," she said with a strained voice. She brushed past N, taking the lead. Cilan followed closely behind her, with Georgia and Trip further in tow. N lingered behind until he compelled himself to move forward.

They continued in tense silence with only the roars of Kyurem puncturing it. The thunderous reverberations heightened the tension, but still, no one spoke. Iris's restlessness only seemed to worsen the further they went on. N was watching her closely; his gaze burrowed into the back of her, watching her every movement.

And so, that was how he caught the roll of a Pokéball in her hand. She held it behind the small of her back, as if she were showing it off. N gritted his teeth. Was she intending to make him angry? What was her endgame? He knew he could not read humans well at all, and Iris was an especially enigmatic specimen. He learned that well from the weeks he spent with her.

But then N saw the reactions of her companions: A perk in alarm that shifted into understanding. The whole atmosphere of the group changed, and N could see that Cilan, Georgia, and Trip were also retrieving a Pokéball for themselves.

That was when N realized Iris's Pokéball was not a mocking exhibition for him. It was a signal to her friends. Iris knew he was lying about being alone. They all did.

And yet, he did nothing. He could not bring himself to do anything to her. He could not bring himself to do anything to stop what followed.

The plan, N vaguely remembered, had been to incapacitate Iris and recapture Zekrom and Reshiram under the stealth of Kyurem's cries for help. Yet Iris, attentive to his failed deception, spun on her heel the moment Kyurem's voice cracked the silence of the cave. A Liepard who had been lying in wait plunged toward her with claws outstretched.

But they had been ready. Cilan's Pansage, called out at the same moment, intercepted the deadly ambush, biting into Liepard's shoulder and tackling it out of the way. Georgia's Bisharp knocked out a Swoobat gunning for Trip's head with Metal Claw. Trip's Conkeldurr flung one of its concrete pillars into the gut of a charging Krookodile and smashed it against a wall. Iris's Noivern was immediately on the offense against a Druddigon, unleashing a Dragonbreath attack that forced it to retreat.

Once the dust subsided, N stood on the precipice of the violent scene, shaking. A few crisp, applauding claps cut through the air before silence could fully settle in again. Ghetsis had emerged from his elected corner of darkness.

"Impressive," he commended. "Although, I truly should have known better than to believe N somehow wouldn't have given us away."

"Why N continues to put up with you, I'll never understand," Iris hissed. It was less of an insult toward Ghetsis than a pointed remark at N. "Where's Kyurem?"

"You're not exactly in a position to be asking questions," Ghetsis said lightly. "You may have anticipated our surprise for you—" His pleasant tone and word choice only made him seem more malicious. "—but you're _outnumbered_."

The shadows of other figures—dozens upon dozens of Ghetsis's underlings from Team Plasma—loomed above and around them, but they remained unseen in the darkest corners of the blue cavern. Still, the sense of their presence was suffocating; Iris, Cilan, Georgia, and Trip instinctively pulled closer together. Noivern landed beside Iris protectively, and Pansage, Bisharp, and Conkeldurr similarly positioned themselves to defend their trainers.

"That's awfully big talk," Iris panted. "You _need_ me. That's why you couldn't kill me the first time you captured me."

"True," Ghetsis conceded. "But your own arrogance obscures one important fact: You're valuable, but none of your friends are."

Every muscle in Iris's body went visibly rigid. N noticed, Ghetsis noticed, and her companions noticed, prompting a rush of panic to run through their veins. Iris's self-assurance had been shattered; she was scared, and their lives were in danger. Cilan swallowed and backed closer to Iris, touching her hand in a feeble attempt to ease her. It failed. He was just as scared as her.

"Hand over Reshiram and Zekrom, and we'll let you all go with no harm done," Ghetsis propositioned. Iris glared at him with hard eyes, but she soon turned her gaze away, softening now, toward Cilan. He said nothing, but the answer to what she should do was clear in his eyes. Iris looked next to Trip; his gaze, too, was unwavering. Finally, Georgia gave her a small nod, and Iris turned toward Ghetsis again, sucking in her breath.

She couldn't speak, though. At last, she looked at N again, and quietly pleaded his name.

He did nothing.

Iris narrowed her gaze, straightened her back, and looked at Ghetsis, ready, with the affirmation of her friends, to seal their fate.

" _No_ ," she said.

Ghetsis raised an eyebrow.

"No… ?" he repeated. "Fine, then. The easy way never is the more interesting way."

The shadows surrounding the small band of four grew menacing in size. Noivern growled and took flight again, hissing a fiery warning to those who approached. It went unheeded. A Zoroark was the first to leap from the darkness, teeth bared in a wicked grin as it dove directly for Georgia. Bisharp raised its blades to protect her, but it was too late.

Another Pokémon, a Dragonite, had beaten Bisharp to it. The Dragonite tackled the Zoroark and pinned it to the ground before rising up and unleashing a Flamethrower that revealed their enemies' faces and locations.

Iris heart rose into her throat. She _knew_ this Dragonite. It was—

A familiar voice cut through the air.

"Sorry I'm late," Burgundy said with a flip of one of her purple curls. She then addressed Iris directly, "And thank you, for letting me borrow your Dragonite. I suppose we can say we're now even, since you used my Pokémon before returning to me."

Iris's face broke into a disbelieving grin, and she beamed at the Dragonite hovering above her, who smirked back.

"But how—" Iris started.

"The Elder told me Dragonite came to the village after you'd been gone from Opelucid for so long," Burgundy explained. "She meant to tell you this morning, but then you had to leave… It's good we decided to see her before we followed you."

Iris blinked and drew her head away from Dragonite to look at Burgundy in confusion.

" _We_?" she repeated. Iris then breathed in sharply, realizing Burgundy was not alone.

"We thought we ought to even the odds a little bit," Hilda said in reference to the Team Plasma members that still surrounded them. She stood further back from Burgundy, accompanied by her Braviary.

N turned white at her appearance. His mouth hung agape, though he made no indication he would speak. Hilda flicked her gaze toward him; her chin was held high, though somehow, the edges around her eyes softened.

Iris opened her mouth to respond—but the voice that followed was not her own.

" _You_ ," Ghetsis spat the word with venomous familiarity. Hilda turned away from N to look at Ghetsis with equally hard eyes. "It's always _you_." Ghetsis jerked his head toward the followers lying in wait. "Take care of her first, take care of her _now_!"

Braviary screeched, as if he had expected this, and flared out his enormous wings prior to lifting off the ground. The gust alone blew back an incoming Golbat. Without need for his trainer's order, Braviary lunged through the rest of the charging enemy Pokémon with Brave Bird, knocking multiple foes out in the process. Hilda, meanwhile, pulled out the Pokéball for her Samurott and whipped her head toward Iris.

"Go! Now!" she ordered. "We'll handle this."

 _We_. Iris realized Hilda meant herself, Burgundy, Trip, and Georgia. Already, Burgundy and Georgia had called upon two additional Pokémon—Darmanitan and Beartic respectively—to join the fray, and Trip had just ordered his Conkeldurr to smash aside a Tyranitar. Iris and Cilan looked wildly at each other, but as soon as their gazes connected, the color of determination filled their eyes.

"Right," Iris agreed, reaching into her back pocket to pull out an empty Pokéball. "Noivern, return!" As Noivern immaterialized and disappeared into the safety of his Pokéball, Iris turned to her Dragonite.

"You with us Dragonite?" she asked.

Dragonite grunted affirmatively and lowered himself for her.

"Great!" Iris jumped onto his back. "Come on, Cilan." Cilan did a double-take between her and the battle unfolding behind them. He quickly found his resolve again and pulled out a Pokéball to call back Pansage before letting Iris help hoist him onto Dragonite's back. As soon as he was situated, Dragonite launched himself into the air and shot away from the chaotic scene.

"Where are we going?" Cilan shouted. His question was nearly lost to the speed at which Dragonite flew, but Iris still managed to distinguish his voice.

"To find Kyurem," she answered, looking back at him.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No," Iris admitted. She looked down at Dragonite next. "Do you? Can you sense him?" Dragonite grunted a denial. Iris chewed on her bottom lip and closed her eyes, trying to focus.

A vision crossed her mind; it was hazy and dark, but a vision nevertheless. In it, she could see dozens more Team Plasma agents—what Ghetsis had waiting for them was just a small greeting party in comparison—holding back Kyurem in chains. He was crying out for help, still.

There was something else: Something was going wrong. Iris couldn't tell what, but something was happening—something was throwing the Team Plasma grunts into disarray, and the chains were loosening. Was she imagining this for herself? Iris opened her eyes again.

"Okay… Okay!" She said it more to herself than anything. "We need to stop—right—"

Her "now" was interrupted by an Ice Beam attack shot out of seemingly nowhere and barely missed Dragonite's wing. Before either Iris or Cilan could react, another Ice Beam fired at them. This time, Dragonite couldn't dodge it. It hit him square on the chest, and they went down.

A mere second from impact, Iris fell off Dragonite and skidded a few feet. The hard, rocky landing would have torn into the skin of her arm were it not for the protective layer of her jacket. She hissed in pain nevertheless, having hit her hip.

"Iris!" Cilan called out. He ran to her side and helped her sit up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" Iris breathed. "Nothing's broken, I think. Are you okay?"

Cilan appeared at ease.

"I'm fine. A little banged up, like you, but fine" he answered. He turned his head over his shoulder. "Looks like Dragonite is okay, too." He was in the process of staggering to his feet again.

Iris sighed in relief, then looked up. Her eyes widened then, and she lunged for Cilan with a screeching "Look out!" She tackled him to the ground and to safety as a _third_ Ice Beam just barely missed them.

"You didn't think we'd let you go _that_ easy, did you?" Aldith asked haughtily, a Cryogonal hovering over her shoulder. Iris lifted herself off Cilan and sat up.

"It would've been nice," Iris said with a cough. Cilan sat up, too, rubbing his lower back before directing a narrow glare at Aldith.

"Who are you?" he demanded. He glanced at Iris next, repeating, "Who _is_ she?"

"One of Ghetsis's more elite grunts, I guess you could say," Iris scoffed.

"And the last thing _you'll_ ever see," Aldith answered menacingly. She started to raise a finger, planning to direct a final attack at the pair. They braced themselves, but just as Aldith's lips parted to issue the command, Dragonite vaulted himself between his trainer and the Cryogonal, unleashing a Fire Blast. Now it was Aldith and her Pokémon which had to flee to safety—but at a turn, Cryogonal finished its execution of Ice Beam and made a direct blow to Dragonite. And when he fell again, it was evident that, this time, he wouldn't be getting up again soon.

"Dragonite!" Iris cried out. She staggered to her feet and rushed to him. Cilan, meanwhile, motioned to pull out his Crustle to continue the battle.

"Dragonite?" Iris cradled his head in her lap. He opened his eyes and made a reassuring grunt. Iris smiled weakly and embraced him before pulling out his Pokéball; she had held onto it, despite everything. "Here, rest up. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

"Crustle, use Rocker Wrecker!"

Iris snapped back into the present reality. The giant boulder Crustle had aimed at Cryogonal had missed, and Iris made a grab for one of her own Pokéballs to help. But who to call out? Dragonite was hurt; Gabite, Fraxure, Noivern, and Emolga were all at a type disadvantage; Excadrill's Ground-type attacks would be useless against Cryogonal. Her breath shuddered, and a chill ran up her spine as her mind raced for a decision. In every way, she was vulnerable to the ice.

"Ugh, I've had enough of this," Aldith complained. "I need to get back to Kyurem before those fools lose control. Cryogonal, use Sheer Co—"

Before she could issue the deadly command, a Volcarona cut through the darkness and took her down, knocking her out-cold before unleashing a powerful Fire Blast that laid Cryogonal beside his trainer.

"You're not going anywhere," Benga said with a smirk and arms folded. "Well, at least you're not going to Kyurem." He returned Volcarona into his Pokéball, then lifted up one hand, revealing that he was holding an additional Pokéball, and he tossed it once, twice, three times, catching it on every fall.

Iris's breath caught in her throat—for more reasons than one. On the downbeat of Benga's third, casual toss, however, she started to sputter, "Y-You? What are _you_ doing here?"

"Saving your life," Benga answered coolly. "Sheer Cold—that's the killer. My grandpa told me that's probably what did in your parents, and almost you, too."

His answer provided another staggering revelation: He knew about her parents. He had probably known all along, from before the moment they even met at Drayden's memorial. And, as a consequence, no matter what Burgundy could have said to him, he would have known she would end up there, seeking Kyurem.

She couldn't speak, so Cilan stepped in.

"How did you know _we'd_ be here?" he asked. Benga smiled tiredly.

"I gotta admit," he started, "your friend Burgundy's story was pretty convincing, and I almost bought into it. We were just getting ready to set off for Dragonspiral Tower when I figured out the truth." His gaze shifted around the area. "Where's Hilda?"

Iris felt a surge of anger rush through her blood. Hilda. Ghetsis was right: It _was_ always Hilda. It was Hilda who had brought Benga here. It had to have been her. How else could Benga have found them?

"With Ghetsis," Cilan still answered. "She and the others were fighting him and his underlings when we left."

Benga's demeanor changed from one of confident nonchalance to agitated concern.

"You _left_ them?" he repeated incredulously, almost angrily.

"They wanted to give us a chance to save Kyurem," Iris defended, finally finding her voice again.

"That doesn't matter anymore," Benga said, raising the Pokéball in his hand again. "Already done."

That gesture, that one, simple gesture, knocked the rest of the air out of Iris. She became acutely aware of how extraordinarily quiet it had become. Kyurem was no longer crying out for help—because he was no longer _out_. He was in Benga's hand, and the implications of that were bewildering.

"H-How?" Iris stammered out. Then, more importantly, she added, "Why?" The "why" was the key. Why had Benga captured him? Iris knew why she and Cilan captured Reshiram and Zekrom: to protect them, and to unite them. Both goals required Kyurem. To accomplish that meant they needed Benga to cooperate in a plan they had designed for just the two of them, a plan only made possible by months—no, years—of working toward an alignment in their convictions.

Benga ignored that instrumental "why," however, and only answered the "how."

"Those Team Plasma guys scare pretty easily," he said with a little smirk. "A sweep of my Hydreigon, and the chains were loose and Kyurem was mine." Benga then stored Kyurem's new Pokémon in his pocket, his expression growing more serious. "We need to go. We need to find Ghetsis and N, and I imagine the Team Plasma grunts left over aren't too happy with me either."

"Ghetsis and N?" Iris repeated.

"You said Hilda was with them, right?" Benga asked. Iris nodded slowly. "Then that's who we need to find."

He slipped Kyurem's Pokéball into his pocket and cast one last dismissive glance at Aldith, who still lay out-cold, before jumping from his perch and landing before the couple. From the sash around his shoulder, he plucked out a different Pokéball, let out a Mudsdale, and immediately hopped onto his back. He looked as though he was about to send himself and Mudsdale into a gallop, but paused at the last moment to turn toward Iris and Cilan.

"Well, aren't you coming?" he said, a little impatiently.

Iris's chest swelled with some mix of anger and fear and indignation. Cilan appeared tensely nervous and flicked his eyes toward her, waiting for a cue.

Eventually, Iris managed to swallow the fire in her throat and ask, "What do you plan to do?" Benga looked at her incredulously, as if the answer were totally obvious.

"Save them," he said. "Just like how I saved you."

Picking up on Iris's unease, Cilan said, "They can handle themselves. We have Kyurem, Reshiram, and Zekrom between the three of us, and that effectively locks Team Plasma out of winning the war."

"Your point?" Benga raised an eyebrow.

"Let's not risk anything," Cilan said. "Ghetsis threatened murder to obtain Reshiram and Zekrom."

"And our first priority should be to keep them safe," Iris added.

"If he threatened murder, then that's all the more reason to go back," Benga said, his voice rising. "He's murdered before, and he'll do it again."

Iris felt a pang of fear, and Benga's gaze narrowed slightly before he added, "Or are your loyalties only to your ideals, in spite of your friends sacrificing so much for you?"

Iris let out a shaky breath and cast a sideways glance at Cilan, who seemed swayed. Iris sucked in the cold air and pursed her lips. She had no choice.

"Fine," she agreed. "But we keep Kyurem, Reshiram, and Zekrom out of it."

Benga looked ahead, away from her.

"No promises," was his only reply. With Benga's call, Mudsdale then launched into a gallop, leaving them in the dust. Iris appeared struck, but she hurriedly jerked herself out of her stupor and whipped a Pokéball out.

"He's going to—" Cilan breathed, just now realizing the full implications.

"—Kill Ghetsis, I know," Iris cut him off. "Noivern, come out again!" Once he emerged, Iris pleaded, "Noivern, can you carry both Cilan and me?"

Compared to Dragonite, Noivern was not as great a heavy-lifter, and it was questionable he could support _two_ people, let alone one. Dragonite was hurt, though, and Iris was desperate.

Noivern initially made a hesitating noise but looked at Cilan and agreed.

"Okay." Iris patted for Noivern to lower himself. He did, and Iris and Cilan carefully mounted him.

"You all right?" Iris asked him. Noivern hummed affirmatively. "Then let's go!" With an effort, Noivern managed to lift himself and his riders off the ground and into the air, off in pursuit of Benga.

"Get ready," Iris instructed to Cilan as she pulled out an additional Pokéball.

"Reshiram and Zekrom?" Cilan asked.

"No." Iris vigorously shook her head. "I want to avoid that if we can."

"And if Benga—" Cilan worriedly began.

"—Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Iris said. "But even if the three of us have the Tao Trio split among us and out of Team Plasma's reach, someone could get killed—someone _will_ get killed—if it comes to that point."

Benga—and Ghetsis, and N, and Team Plasma, and the friends who had sworn to protect them—came into view again. In that same view, Iris saw a Plasma's Scolipede rear its head behind Benga, and in a split-second decision, she called out her Fraxure.

"Dragon Tail!"

Fraxure fell several yards from the release point atop Noivern, crushing the Scolipede beneath its glowing, heavy tail. Noivern flew near the surface, and Iris leapt off, skidding to Fraxure's side. Benga jerked his head back at her with wide eyes.

"Now we're even," Iris told him bluntly as Cilan dismounted Noivern and hurried to her side.

"Back again already?" Ghetsis asked lightly. Iris rose her gaze toward him, glaring. "Very well, we were almost finished here anyway." The scene beyond him then came into focus: Outmanned, their friends and their Pokémon were ragged and exhausted from the ongoing battle. Gone from the field were Bisharp and Conkeldurr; only Beartic and Darmanitan remained, though both were clearly on their last legs. Trip had acquired a substantial gash on his upper right arm and was being supported by Georgia; Burgundy still stood firm.

Hilda was off to the side with her Braviary and Samurott. Her tightly wound ponytail had broken into messy brown curls at her shoulders. N stood on the opposite end, still unmoved.

"Don't listen to him," Hilda said, wiping her mouth. "We're just fine. Benga, you should leave."

" _Ah_ , so this is Benga?" Ghetsis inquired. "The leader of the Truth Seekers—we finally meet. I'm surprised I didn't recognize you at first: You look _just_ like your grandfather."

Every muscle in Benga visibly tensed. "Unfortunately, I think this will be our first _and_ our last meeting," he growled though he still managed a smirk. Iris saw a Pokéball raise in his hands, and her blood ran cold.

"I'll have to agree there," Ghetsis said, his expression darkening as he, too, raised a Pokéball.

"Cilan—" Iris desperately grabbed onto his wrist. From the corner of her eye, Iris saw Hilda also whip her head toward N, crying his name out with the same cadence of desperation as Iris had Cilan.

Ghetsis called out his Hydreigon first, but his arrival was immediately eclipsed by the sudden, enormous emergence of Kyurem with a terrifying roar. Iris wasn't sure what she expected to see in Ghetsis's reaction—fear in facing a legend? shock that he was no longer in control?—but when she saw the glimmer of thrill in his eyes, Iris knew something was very, _very_ wrong.

"N!" Hilda's pitch rose in intensity.

Iris pulled Cilan forward; she brandished a Pokéball, and he followed suit.

Everything seemed to happen at once: Benga ordered that Kyurem use Sheer Cold. Iris and Cilan desperately called forth Zekrom and Reshiram with cries that they intervene with Bolt Strike and Blue Flare. The remaining members of Team Plasma convened with stunning efficiency to capture all three dragons while Hydreigon stood as Ghetsis's libation.

And N—N finally acted. Iris would never know why. Perhaps the chokehold Ghetsis had on him compelled N to defend his father from certain death out of a sad obligation despite the years of abuse he had endured. Perhaps it was that he saw a Pokémon—Hydreigon—in danger as his Ghetsis's sacrificial pawn in an effort to recapture Kyurem, and N, hopelessly devoted to his cause, made a final stand. Or perhaps Hilda finally got through to him.

Regardless of his motivations, it was he who stepped in the middle of it all and proved that, despite everything, he _could_ speak to Pokémon. He slid into the tongue of dragons, a language he—and everyone else—were once convinced he did not know and could not learn. He spoke to all three legendary Pokémon at once, uttering words that no one, not even Iris, would ever understand, for it was a language that could only be understood between dragons and humans.

The attacks collided in blinding force. And when the field cleared, what had been between the three dragons—or rather, _who_ had been between the three dragons—no longer existed. The three dragons no longer existed either, for in their place at the center was the prodigious shimmering gray dragon that had no name, the Aboriginal Dragon.

Before Iris had a chance to survey her—their—new reality, a gut-wrenching scream, the worst she had ever heard and probably ever would hear, shattered the silence. Despite her injuries as a consequence of being so close to the collision of power, Iris sat up and saw Hilda collapsed on her knees, absolutely sobbing.

Iris panted, feeling dread fill her chest. She groaned in pain and turned on her side, reaching for Cilan, helping him to sit up as well. She said nothing to him; their eyes told enough, reassured each other that they were okay, before they looked out at the middleground together.

Team Plasma's efforts had failed. Ghetsis, they could see, was alive, barely, as was his Hydreigon. Benga was looking at the wailing Hilda in horror. Trip, Burgundy, and Georgia, mostly unaffected by the blast, had their gazes directed elsewhere in awe: the new dragon. And that was where Iris and Cilan looked next, too, for it was them that the Aboriginal Dragon ultimately turned to with deeply allaying red eyes.

It was over. The war was over.

 **End of Part II: Saving Ideals**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for your support and patience. You can expect to see the epilogue in a couple days.


	13. Epilogue: What Resolves

**Epilogue: What Resolves**

The first cool, crisp autumn breeze carried with it the promise of a change for which Iris desperately yearned. She returned to Dragonspiral Tower often, almost ritualistically. However, it was on a particular September morning when she noticed reddening leaves drifting into the stagnant, swampy pools surrounding the tower that she knew it would be her last visit for a while.

Her ascent was a long and lonely one. It was a pilgrimage she usually chose to take in solitude. Sometimes, Cilan came. He had just as much a stake in all this as she did. Still, he was willing to grant her space on the matter, for which Iris was grateful. She especially needed it today.

Her first visitation after the war's end was a difficult one. Her perception of the sacred landmark had been scarred by fear and the brush of death. She remembered the steps crumbling beneath her feet as the stony walls shook; she remembered the pillar falling, separating her from those who loved her most; she remembered losing all sense of herself to Reshiram's mental torment. Yet, Iris found that each subsequent trip, her journey grew easier. She figured if she kept coming, then maybe it would keep getting easier, and the pain would stop.

Iris reached the top of the tower. Cast in a golden autumnal light that poured through the missing pieces of the ceiling was the Aboriginal Dragon. His shimmering silver scales shone brilliantly in the sunlight, and Iris felt her breath catch in her throat. He was always a breathtaking sight, but the image of him basking in the morning sun was especially stunning.

Iris stood in quiet admiration for a while before she moved forward and made her presence known. She called out to him with ease. The dragon turned his head toward her, his eyes piercing her very soul with their gorgeous red hue. Iris beckoned for him to come closer, and he lowered his head. She embraced him, whispering to him in their shared language.

Another human's voice broke through the near-silence: "I knew I'd find you here."

Just like that, the moment of reverie shattered. Iris felt every muscle in her body tense up. She slid her hands down the great dragon's face until they hung at her sides.

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly. Her tone wasn't venomous, but it was deeply suspicious.

"I have as much a right to be here as you," Benga said, coming up beside her. He extended a hand toward the dragon, who allowed him to pet his snout. Iris was silent, reconsidering her question.

"Why did you come here then?" she asked.

"To see you," Benga answered. After a pause, he added with a languid stroke down the dragon's face, "And him." Benga released the dragon from his touch, and the beast reared his head back into the sunlight. Benga smiled gently while Iris watched him with wariness.

They ended up sitting together, backs against the outer wall of the room. Benga's legs were outstretched, one crossed over the other. Iris had folded her knees beneath her chin. They said nothing for a while, only watching the dragon's movements.

"So why did you want to see me?" Iris's question reverberated in the silence.

"To talk," Benga answered. "I'm going away for a while."

Iris didn't care to ask where. "You could've just seen me tonight," she said.

"I'm not going tonight," Benga said. Iris gave him a blank stare, and he quickly added, "Don't get me wrong: It's not because I'm bitter or upset or anything like that. I'm just not ready to face Hilda, and I know she'll be there."

"Really?" Iris raised an eyebrow. "I don't."

"Trust me, she'll go," Benga said. They left it at that for a while, letting the silence consume them once again. Yet, it wasn't quite an uncomfortable silence, or even a tense one. They deliberately sat in it, soaking it in, thinking as they did.

"Do you want to know what I promised Hilda when she joined the Truth Seekers?" Benga eventually asked. "I mean, what I promised her in exchange for her information on Team Plasma?"

Iris hadn't thought much of it, but she _did_ want to know. Yet she wasn't willing to openly admit it, so she only looked at him searchingly. Benga took that as an affirmation.

"I promised her that when it came time for us to take down Team Plasma, we wouldn't hurt N," he said. "It's why I can't face her. It was the one promise I made to her, and yet, N was the one person who—" He stopped short and shook his head.

"It's funny, because leading up to that moment, you know who I was thinking about?" He let the question hang open for a moment, almost as if it were for dramatic effect. "Hilda. I thought about how Ghetsis might kill her like he killed my grandfather. But because of what happened, I'm not sure she'll ever talk to me again. I'm not sure I can ever talk to her again."

For the first time in a long, long time, Iris felt a pang of sympathy for Benga, and she found herself actually uttering the words, "I'm sorry." She wasn't sure why. It was his own fault. There was a dark, bitter half of her that said he deserved this.

Yet, at the same time, she found herself thinking about Cilan. She knew if she was in the same situation, and she feared his life was in danger, she would have acted just as irrationally and just as violently.

Benga shrugged it off. "Truth be told, what happened might not have made much of difference," he said. "I don't think Hilda was ever mine." He paused and shifted the topic, perhaps realizing it was growing too personal. "Anyway. My point is I wanted to talk to you now because I didn't want you to think I was snubbing you tonight."

"I wouldn't have," Iris said, though she knew that maybe she would have.

Benga managed a smirk, folding his arms behind his head. "I think you're gonna be great, you know," he said. "I'm sure my grandfather would have felt the same. I hope you know that."

Iris pulled her knees closer to her. "Thanks," she mumbled. Her voice was muffled slightly by the fabric of her dress.

"Are you nervous?"

"No." Yes. Iris was silent a moment longer before adding, "I wish it wasn't a thing, though—I'm already not exactly about formal celebrations. It feels worse having a nice inauguration under these circumstances."

"Who else was gonna become Champion?" Benga smiled crookedly. "Of course the other gym leaders were going to vote that you take my grandfather's place. You're the person that came out as the hero in all of this." Iris's mouth twitched. How that was, she would never understand.

Benga must have sensed her lack of candor because he continued, "It _is_ okay to be nervous. It's a big responsibility—having a war-torn country resting on your shoulders. I know. I was there."

"I know you were," Iris said. "And I won't make the same mistakes you did."

Benga didn't look offended, but he did look surprised. The traces of bewilderment disappeared with a short, almost bitter life though. "You know, Iris," he started, "I did make mistakes. I can own that. But I never did half the things you think I did. Striaton City, Cilan's gym—that wasn't me."

Iris was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, she sighed.

"I really want to believe you, Benga," she said, "but I don't know that I can."

Benga pressed his lips together, his vivid red eyes filling with a deep disappointment. Iris found it difficult to look him in the face.

"Well," he eventually said. "I guess I can't force you to think differently." He rose to his feet again, cracking his back as he did. "If nothing else, I hope you at least know I don't hold your mistakes against you. I've always liked you, Iris. I still do."

The remark could have been perceived as a slight, but Iris sensed he was entirely genuine, and she at least appreciated that. She managed a strained smile. Benga looked toward the dragon again.

"Take good care of him, okay?" he said.

"I will," Iris said. She then added, almost irrelevantly, "His name is Drayden."

Benga stopped, blinking. "What?"

"The Aboriginal Dragon—I've given him a name," Iris elaborated. "Drayden."

Benga stared blankly at her for a moment. Then, he smiled, too.

"That's a good name," he said.

That was the last Iris saw of him.

* * *

Iris didn't want to admit she liked her inauguration dress as much as she did—oh, but she did. She really, really did. Designed by Elsa, the dress was made up of long, flowing fabric in two shades of pink, and it was spacious—Iris appreciated that. It was maybe the one thing she liked about her inauguration.

"Arceus, how can you stand having this much hair?" Georgia complained as she ran the brush through Iris's locks for the upteempth time. It got caught in a tangle, and she yanked it a little, causing Iris to wince and issue her former rival a glare. "I did this hours ago, and it's already a mess again."

Iris tenderly pressed a hand to her scalp. "You don't _have_ to do this, y'know," she said. "I can do it myself."

"Oh no," Georgia replied, dragging out the vowels. "If I left you to your own devices, you'd look like a mess as usual."

"She's right," Burgundy chimed in. "And you'll want to look _parfait_ for your reception."

Iris sucked in her breath and let it out in a long, hissing sigh. She willed herself into Georgia's hands again. She just wanted to get this over with.

They were tucked away in one of the rooms of the Unova Pokémon League headquarters. After the war was over and Ghetsis was detained, the Truth Seekers chased out the remaining Team Plasma members and reclaimed Alder and the Elite Four's formal homestead. Iris had taken no part in any of that; she hadn't been ready to go back then. She wasn't sure she was ready now. She had not dared to go near Shauntal's or N's rooms. She didn't want to see what had happened to them—if they were empty or if they lay untouched. Iris wasn't sure which would be worse.

The door cracked open, and Cilan slid inside. Iris glanced at him over her shoulder, and she could see his chest visibly swelling with pride and a smile blooming across his face. Iris smiled weakly in return and rose up as he approached, letting him kiss her on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," he said, holding both of her hands in his.

"All thanks to us, of course," Burgundy cut in.

"All thanks to _me_ ," Georgia corrected. Iris glowered at both of them, and Cilan let out a nervous laugh.

"Well, thank you for helping Iris, then," he said. He turned to Iris, adding, "Are you ready?"

Iris rested a hand on his arm. "As much as I'll ever be," she said.

"You'll be fine," Georgia said in a moment of sincerity as she walked up beside Iris. "Everybody's here to support _you_ —they wouldn't have decided to make you Champion if they didn't."

" _Oui_ ," Burgundy added. "And if nothing else, you'll always have us."

"Lucky me," Iris said a little dryly, though she cracked a smile.

As she was looking at them across her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity behind them. She really did look nice—almost like someone entirely different. She felt a pang of fear, the same fear she had been swallowing for months by then, the same fear she denied having to Benga: that she wasn't enough.

But then she remembered how much she had feared she wouldn't be enough to take Drayden's place, that she wouldn't be enough to continue her parents' legacy—and she had. And she would be enough here, too. Besides, she had taken an oath—an oath to protect the people and Pokémon of Unova as Champion—and if there was one thing Iris knew she was good at, it was holding to an ideal.

Iris tightened her grip on Cilan's arm. "Okay, let's go," she told him more confidently. He said nothing but smiled at her, briefly placing his hand over hers.

There was an applause as Cilan escorted her down the grand staircase. Iris managed a smile but looked only at the crowd long enough to pick out a few familiar faces—Clay, Lenora, Roxie—before averting her eyes downward. She had accepted her new role, but this attention, these bells and whistles—something felt wrong about it. If it were her choice, she would have gone without all of it.

She briefly flicked her gaze toward Cilan, who kept his eyes straight ahead and focused. She had privately voiced her concerns to him, and he talked her out of forgoing any of the decorative formalities, like this reception. It was about restoring a sense of normalcy, he had told her. People were looking to her to make things feel okay again, and if she balked at the traditional activities for a new Champion's inauguration, then, well—it wasn't normal. It was like N announcing on a television broadcast that he was the new Champion without any of the arranged formalities.

"Madam Champion, may I say, you look simply stunning," Raoul Contesta—the president of the Association of Pokémon Coordinators, Cilan would later inform her—greeted.

"I hope you always know you will have an ally in my region," Diantha Gardner, the Kalos Champion, told her.

"Congratulations, Madam Champion," Sabrina Ortiz, a Psychic-type gym leader from Kanto, said—a sentiment Iris heard echoed by many others, including Pyramid King Brandon Blair, Sinnoh Elite Four member Flint Waylend, and PCA President Gerard Poltiere.

Iris fielded these greetings with as much grace as she could muster and Cilan as her more eloquent buffer, but on that last one, they both stumbled.

"M-Mr. Poltiere, sir," Cilan said. "It's good to see you again."

"And in good health as well," Poltiere said. "I must confess I was wrong about the Truth Seekers and the war. You two went much further than I would have imagined—in more ways than one. It seems she wasn't only just a friend, hm, Cilan?"

His keen gaze fell upon the close proximity at which Iris held onto Cilan. Iris blinked and raised an eyebrow before looking at Cilan, who laughed nervously in response.

"Yes, I suppose _I_ was wrong on that front," Cilan said.

Iris cleared her throat. "So how are things going for the PCA now?" she asked, trying to be amicable. No matter how much she personally disliked the man, he was the head of a major Unovan institution. She had to play nice.

"Swimmingly," Poltiere answered. "We expect the Nimbasa campus to open before the fall semester begins. You'll be pleased to hear, Madam Champion, that the PCA has commissioned a memorial to honor the lives lost in the fire—the seven young connoisseurs and twenty-three Pokémon."

"Oh!" Iris straightened up. "That's… good to hear."

"The board would be most honored if you would join us at the dedication in October," Poltiere said.

"I'll make sure I'm there," Iris promised.

"We'll look forward to your presence." Poltiere then turned an eye back to Cilan, asking, "So, can I expect to see you enrolling in classes for the fall now that all this has been put behind us?"

"I—" Cilan seemed caught off guard. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I haven't given it much thought yet—and the deadline for most classes have passed already—"

"Nonsense," Poltiere dismissed. "I'm sure we can work something out. Come, walk with me."

"Um…" Cilan did a doubletake between Iris and Poltiere. Iris, however, nodded to him and released him from her grip. He smiled apologetically at her before allowing himself to be swept away by the president. Iris was alone, now managing the "hellos" and "congratulations" without the gregarious Cilan to inform her whom she was even speaking to.

"It's an honor to meet you, Madam Champion."

"Thank you, Madam Champion, for all that you've done for Unova."

"Madam Champion, if I could just have a moment of your time for—"

Iris was feeling increasingly overwhelmed with each additional nameless encounter, and she was on the verge of breaking into a run back up the staircase when she felt a warm hand on her wrist. Relief washed over Iris—Cilan had returned—but when she turned, she found it wasn't Cilan at all, but the face was still familiar and still very much a welcome arrival.

"Mind if I cut in?" Trip said both to Iris and to the throng of elites that had conglomerated around her. Before she or anyone else could answer, he tugged her through the crowd and to the ballroom floor. The orchestra was beginning a new piece, and Trip placed his hand comfortably above the small of her back before they began to move with the music.

"Thanks," Iris breathed gratefully.

"You looked like you could use a break," Trip said.

"I did." Iris nodded. They said nothing for a short while, just to give Iris some time to recollect herself. When she did, she looked up at him and said, "I haven't seen you all day."

Trip scoffed.

"I think it's more accurate to say I haven't seen _you_ all day," he said.

Iris let out a small laugh. "I guess I've been pretty busy," she admitted.

"You'll have to get used to that."

Iris's lips wriggled into a smile. She could appreciate how blunt he was about things.

"So…" Iris drawled. "What are you up to now?"

"I've been doing some writing," Trip said.

"Writing?" Iris raised an eyebrow.

"Record-keeping," Trip clarified. "Photos need context. I told you before."

Iris remembered the moment they stood among the rubble in Black City on their way to the PokéMart. He had been taking pictures of the electric blue graffiti on a destroyed communications tower—the same Benga had taken down himself.

"Right…" Iris said quietly.

Trip sensed her sudden reticence, and with a reassuring tightening on her hand, said, "Well—maybe it's a little idealistic, but I hope if people read it, it'll prevent something like this from happening again. It inevitably _will_ happen again, but at least I'll have done my part to stop it, just as you've done yours."

Iris managed another smile, but her gaze, almost magnetically, was then drawn away from his. Over Trip's shoulder, she could see Hilda standing in an all-white evening gown near the rich red curtains on outer rim of the room. The doors to the balcony were all open, and her dress and the curtains ruffled slightly in the breeze. Hilda's piercing blue eyes were locked onto Iris, and when she was certain she had attracted the Champion's attention, she stepped back, turned away, and disappeared through those doors.

Iris inhaled sharply, beginning to loosen her grip on Trip. Trip blinked and glanced over his shoulder as well—apparently soon enough to catch a glimpse of the other trainer. He released Iris from his hold, save her right hand, which he still held politely in his.

"Thank you for your time, Madam Champion," Trip said. Iris nodded to him, and as he departed, Iris made a beeline for the balcony.

Hilda was alone outside, leaning over the railing with a glass of wine hanging precariously between her fingers. Iris stopped long enough just to take in her breath again before approaching.

"Benga told me you'd be here tonight," Iris started, coming up beside her.

Hilda raised a delicate eyebrow at her, then tipped her wineglass far back against her lips for a drink. When she came up again, she said, a little stiffly, "That Benga talks too much."

"Did you tell him you were coming?" Iris asked.

"No," Hilda said. "I haven't talked to him in months."

"I sort of got that impression," Iris admitted.

"Why'd you ask then?"

"I just didn't know how _he_ knew you were going to be here, so I wondered," Iris explained.

Hilda shrugged. "Benga just knows me better than I wish he did," she said. She wasn't looking at Iris; rather, she moved her wineglass around in her hand, watching the silky red whirlpool spin in an uneven formation.

Iris raked the palms of her hands over the granite railing, thinking. "Why did you come tonight?" she asked. "I haven't seen you since…" She trailed off, but she knew Hilda would understand her meaning.

Hilda sucked in her breath but didn't immediately respond. "Closure, I suppose," she said. "I watched you for months. I think I ought to see you through to the end."

"Ah…" Iris wasn't sure she saw the connection, but she wasn't sure what else to say.

Hilda didn't leave her in suspense for long, however. Suddenly, she was gripping the stem of her wineglass hard, so hard that she might've snapped it in two.

"I've spent countless hours thinking about those last moments," she said. Her voice, full of emotion, trembled, and Iris felt her throat tighten. "I've re-lived them over and over again—trying to make sense of them, trying to figure out what was going through N's mind when…" Hilda stopped short and shook her head. Her firm gaze then fell upon Iris as she asked, "Was there—was there anything he ever told you? Anything he ever said to you?"

Iris bit her lip and looked down.

"Well…" she started with hesitation. She glanced up again and noticed she had Hilda's rapt attention. "When I was imprisoned here… he asked me something strange. He asked me if I'd ever been in love before. When I told him I wasn't sure, he said he had been—but that he'd rejected it. I asked him if he meant you, but he never gave me a straight answer."

Hilda stared at her blankly. Then, she turned away—fully, with her back toward her.

"I wish you hadn't told me that," Hilda said quietly.

"Wh— but you asked—" Iris started.

"I know." Hilda's voice, Iris could tell, was starting to water. "But now that you've said it, I wish you hadn't." From behind, Iris could see her press a hand against her face and wipe something away. When she faced Iris again, she was expressionless.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Madam Champion," Hilda said flatly. She turned on her heel and started to walk away. Iris's voice rose in her throat.

"Wait," she called out to her. Hilda stopped. Iris continued, "You know, I've been tasked with picking my own Elite Four since… well, and it's tougher than I thought it would be. Most people I've asked have turned down—nicely, but still. I think a lot of people don't really want to get involved after everything that we've all been through, so I've only gotten three commitments."

"That so?" Hilda tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Who?"

"Elesa, Georgia, and Virgil," Iris answered.

"Ask Clay."

"Already said 'no,'" Iris said. "Look, I didn't bring it up with you for recommendations. I want to know if you'd consider filling that last spot. You're a great trainer. Most of your work during the war might've been behind the scenes, but a lot of people already respect you and—"

Iris was cut off by a curt laugh from Hilda.

"No," she said plainly. "Thank you for thinking of me, but no. This is my last night in Unova."

Iris perked up.

"You're leaving, too?" she said. Hilda nodded. "To where?"

"Hoenn, for now," Hilda answered. "I just need to get away from all this for a while."

Iris pursed her lips. "I understand," she said.

"Iris?" Both she and Hilda straightened up and looked toward the balcony doors, through which Cilan was peeking his head. Confirming she was there, he stepped outside more fully. "I've been looking for you." He then looked in surprise at Hilda, as if he just realized she was there too. "Ah, Hilda—"

"Hello, Cilan," Hilda said with a businesslike temperament. She shifted her gaze to Iris, then back to him, before finally settling on Iris once again. "Good luck to the both of you."

She left without another word.

"What was that about?" Cilan asked.

"Nothing, really," Iris mumbled. Cilan raised an eyebrow. To avoid elaborating, Iris asked, "What did Poltiere end up talking to you about?"

"Oh, nothing, really," Cilan said lightly.

Iris glowered at him. She really didn't want to play this game, but Cilan was watching her with searching eyes, so she gave in. Crossing her arms and looking aside, she said, "She was just asking about N. She's still thinking about him." With a pause, she added, " _I'm_ still thinking about him."

Cilan smiled sadly and reached out, grasping her hand. He ran his thumb gently over her knuckles. "I know you are. But there was nothing you could have done. There was nothing Hilda could have done either," he said.

"Saying it over and over again doesn't make me believe it any more," Iris said.

"Then tell me what you think you could have done differently."

"I… I don't know," she confessed.

"Exactly," Cilan said. "Iris, N made a choice. We may not ever understand it, but we can't change it. What is past is passed. We can remember it and learn from it, but we can only determine what happens in the future." He smiled broadly before adding, "And you now have a lot of power in shaping that future."

"Yeah…" Iris agreed. "I only got this far because of you, though. I hope you know that."

"It was you and I together," Cilan said.

"Well—my point is, I want you to stay by me throughout this because I know I can't do it alone," Iris said. She added, a little wryly, "I'll need someone to set me straight when I get all stubborn."

"I'll stay," Cilan began lightly, "as long as you promise to keep bringing me down a notch or two when I need it."

Iris laughed a little. "Deal." She was holding onto his arm again.

"Are you ready go back in then?" Cilan asked.

"Yeah." Iris nodded. They started off together, but Iris found herself looking at him and thinking. It was only months ago they stood on the steps of a church in Opelucid City, weighing the world and the implications of their parting on their shoulders. They came back together, though. They always seemed to come back together, even when it seemed certain they would never be able to balance the differences between them.

But they had. And they were together still, closer than ever before.

"Cilan?" Iris stopped him just before they entered through the door.

"Yes?" He looked at her.

"... Thanks." There was a lot more she could have said, a lot more she wanted to express. Yet, he could read her intentions well, and he knew all that she meant with one look into her deep, autumn eyes.

Cilan's gaze softened and he leaned forward so that his lips barely grazed the surface of hers.

"I love you," he murmured gravely against her mouth, "and every moment, every regret, every mistake, every line you've ever said that made you who you are and brought you here to me."

Iris had never been all-too enraptured by the instructed eloquence with which he often spoke, but she was certain these were the most beautiful words he had ever said. He kissed her deeply, ending her immediate chance to reply, but she made up for it as her hands slid past his lean frame and found rest on the safety of his back.

In the brief space between the parting of their lips and a second kiss, Iris finally and breathily managed, "I love you, too," and these words shared brought their age-old conflict to the closest middleground they could ever hope to find. Only they could stand there, for the years of damage that trailed behind them were irreparable; the chances of restoration had died long ago in the past. But they could stand there, and the generations that would follow them could stand there, in a brighter future shaped and lifted by their histories.

 **Fin.**

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for your long-standing support of this story; it was a very special project for me. An especially big thanks to mooites, who did so much to help me edit all the chapters.


End file.
